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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24143125">Lover, You’ll Leave A Beautiful Corpse</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/rea_of_sunshine/pseuds/rea_of_sunshine'>rea_of_sunshine</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>IT (Movies - Muschietti)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(Marijuana Specifically), (Specifically by Tom Rogan), Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Bisexual Richie Tozier, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Good Parents Maggie &amp; Wentworth Tozier, Homophobia, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Medical Procedures, Minor Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Minor Bill Denbrough/Stanley Uris, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Period-Typical Homophobia, Probably Gay But Definitely Queer Eddie Kaspbrak, Recreational Drug Use, Richie Tozier Has Self-Esteem Issues, Sexuality Crisis, Slow Burn, Soft Richie Tozier, Sonia Kaspbrak Being Terrible, Sonia Kaspbrak is Not That Bad, Suicidal Thoughts, Underage Drinking, Vomiting, but then</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 18:27:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>137,531</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24143125</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/rea_of_sunshine/pseuds/rea_of_sunshine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Yeah, but how do you live with it? With the world telling you you’re wrong?” Eddie asked finally.</p><p>Richie felt a knot of dread swirl through him. This was Eddie, he thought, asking for advice shouldering the weight of being a queer kid in Derry. Richie didn’t have an answer for that beyond, <em>learn you’re gonna die young and stop giving a shit.</em> But he couldn’t exactly tell Eddie that. Eddie didn’t even know Richie <em>was</em> going to die young.</p><p>There was also a small, fucking selfish part of his brain gleefully telling him, <em>Eddie likes boys, Eddie likes boys.</em></p><div>
  <p> *** </p>
</div>Or, in which Richie with a heart condition and Eddie with a broken arm learn how to love, how to drive, and how to say goodbye.
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>464</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>216</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>As always, eternal love and gratitude for my bud and beta, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mere_Mortifer/pseuds/Mere_Mortifer">Mere_Mortifer</a>. I'll sing her praises more in depth at the end, but for now, please know that this fic would not have happened in any way, size, shape, or form without her. </p><p>I'd also like to point out that, while this fic rotates largely around Richie's heart condition, I'm not a doctor, just a lowly fic writer, so please forgive me any inaccuracies. Also, please do what you need to do if medical issues are a thing that triggers you. No hard feelings. </p><p>Other triggers include emetophobia (most graphically in chapter 2), homophobia, internalized homophobia, and period-typical homophobia (basically throughout), references to Eddie's anxiety, and suicidal ideation (I'll be sure flag that chapter when it comes, but it will be later). Please don't hesitate to let me know if I've missed something upsetting or triggering, and I'll flag it/tag it accordingly. </p><p>I really hope you enjoy. This fic started in the passive wonderings of, "what if Richie was the sickly kid instead of Eddie?", and suddenly, it turned into a beast longer than anything I've ever written. It's like a full-grown child, y'all. </p><p>Updates on Thursdays, as per the tradition of rea_of_sunshine long-fics.</p><p>(NOW WITH ART!! Also by the lovely and talented <a href="https://mere-mortifer-art.tumblr.com/">Mere_Mortifer</a>)</p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Eddie is certainly not, no sir, not at all, attached to his loudmouth hospital roommate.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p>
<p></p><div>
  <p>
  
    <em>July ‘93</em>
 
</p>
</div><p>Eddie could hear the nurses padding off out in the hall, clicking pens and scribbling on the charts of old dudes with pneumonia. Those were the people that <em>needed</em> to be in the hospital. Not Eddie. Not for three days. Not for a fucking cleanly-broken arm. </p><p>It was so stupid, too, how’d he’d done it. Eddie, Bill, and Stan had been biking around, and just like every time at the top of Witcham, Bill took off, yelling, <em>Hi-ho, Silver! Away!</em>, and just like always, Eddie and Stan followed him, pumping their legs, laughing, trying to keep up. Bill was careening down the street the way skiers do, left right left, leaning into it, Stan was smooth and steady down the center, and Eddie…Eddie hit a rock about halfway down. A rock. He went flying off his bike and slid a good ten feet down the asphalt, his arm cracking on impact. </p><p>He’d had to tell his mother he’d tripped down some stairs at the library. She couldn’t exactly ban stairs, and who gave a fuck if she banned the library? </p><p>So fucking stupid. And he hadn’t even made it halfway through the summer before his senior year. </p><p>He punched his head back against the pillow. He could draw the water-stain on the ceiling from memory. The long finger stretching toward the door, the particularly brown spot in the middle, the splatter drops of untarnished white. </p><p>Fuck, he was bored. </p><p>Even his hospital-roommate had ditched him. The bed across the room had been empty since yesterday morning. Eddie had only seen the guy for a second, could see his mother brushing worriedly at his dark curls through the sliver of space between the wall and the partition. He’d been asleep when Eddie was admitted—how he’d stayed asleep through Eddie’s mother’s hysteric smothering was beyond him—and then he’d been wheeled out, cracking a gummy grin over at Eddie as he passed. Maybe he’d been released. Maybe he’d died. </p><p>The thought sent a trill of horror down Eddie’s spine. It wasn’t that he’d grown particularly fond of his roommate or anything. One or both of them had been asleep 96% of the time they’d shared a room, and the other 4% the guy had been speaking groggily to his parents about whatever operation he was about to undergo. (Eddie’d only been half-way eavesdropping. It was really hard <em>not</em> to hear with only a paper curtain and six feet of space separating them.) But an operation…the word lingered in his mind. He’d heard his roommate’s mother say it would probably be a long surgery, and a long stay after it was over. But Jesus, 37 hours and still nothing but radio silence on the other side of the room? </p><p>He’d take listening to the kid’s tentative heart monitor over the sound of his mother’s snoring. </p><p>He looked back around the room. She was spilling out over the arm chair to his left, her purse clutched in her hands like she thought someone might burst in and steal it from her in the middle of a fucking hospital. </p><p>He rolled his eyes and went back to trying to lip-read the cartoon playing on the small TV. It was not an easy task. Apparently, cartoon creators hardly cared about their characters enunciating for poor saps in hospital beds whose volume buttons were mysteriously jammed.</p><p>
He could have gotten up and turned the volume higher, but his mother had been known to wake up if Eddie so much as breathed too hard. She didn’t want to let him out of his bed for anything. <em>Anything</em>. She’d even requested a bedpan for him, but the idea of laying on top of a bucket of his own piss and shit was enough for Eddie to draw a hard line. After a lot of tears and one mention of the word <em>sepsis</em>, he’d managed to convince her to nix the whole thing. He wasn’t even sure you could get sepsis from a bedpan, but the mere ghost of possibility was enough to convince his mother. He sure as shit wasn’t going to mention the catheters that would really take a medical precedence.</p><p>God, he fucking hated hospitals. His arm didn’t even hurt anymore. It was just annoying at this point. And itchy. He was just working on worming his fingers down into the top hole when the door to his room eased open and his nurse poked her head in. He pulled his fingers out guiltily, and she raised an eyebrow at him. </p><p>“It’s itchy,” he mumbled, casting his eyes down. His mother stirred beside him. </p><p>“Eddie-bear?” she crooned, straightening herself with some difficulty and reaching for him. Her hands found his face and tugged him this way and that. He tried to pull away. “Oh, Eddie-bear, I hate seeing you in here like this.”</p><p>“We could <em>leave</em>,” he suggested, finally tugging free of her clutches. </p><p>“Oh, no, you’re not ready to go home, honey,” she said, her eyes growing wide. She swiped a hand through his hair. It hardly felt as comforting as the one he’d seen his roommate’s mother pushing through her son’s. “You’re sweating. The break probably gave you blood poisoning!” </p><p>“You can’t get blood poisoning from a broken arm, Mom!” Eddie groaned, his head lolling back against the pillows. His nurse cleared her throat, and they both turned to look at her.</p><p> “How are you feeling, Eddie?” she asked, stepping forward and pulling the clipboard with his charts on it from the foot of his bed. The buzzing fluorescents overhead cast a white glow over her, lighting her red hair ablaze. </p><p>“I feel <em>fine</em>,” Eddie said, rolling his eyes towards his mother. She clucked unhappily, one hand still resting on his shoulder. </p><p>“Well, your vitals have looked great the last few times I’ve been in here. The doctor and I both think that you’re ready to go home.” She beamed at him, and Eddie felt relief flood him. </p><p>“No,” his mother said, cutting his relief historically short. Her hand tightened on his shoulder. “Eddie-bear has a concussion. You can’t just send him home.” The nurse’s smile grew tight as her eyes shifted to Eddie’s mother. Eddie knew the feeling. </p><p>“Typically, we only keep patients with concussions for one night, if at all, Mrs. Kaspbrak. Plus, if Eddie is concussed, it really is relatively mild. He’ll be fine.” His nurse dropped the chart back into its slot and smiled. “I’ll get the doctor for release forms.” </p><p>She made to exit, but his mother’s voice stopped her. Eddie just squinched his eyes closed while his mother railed on about neglecting her sweet baby boy and how she would be taking up a lawsuit if they didn’t accommodate his needs and blah, blah, blah. </p><p>Eventually, he heard the nurse relent and say they could keep him for one more night, but then he would be released. Period. </p><p>“We have other patients who need these beds,” the nurse finished, her tone icy.</p><p>“Give them that bed,” his mother shot back, and Eddie felt the air on his still-closed eyes as she waved toward the bed of his roommate. </p><p>“That bed is filled already,” the nurse answered. Eddie’s eyes opened. </p><p>“Is it the same boy?” he asked, wheeling his head between the bed and the nurse, suddenly hopeful. His nurse shifted her eyes over to Eddie, and they warmed.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“So, his operation went well?” he pushed. He felt the coil of anxiety loosen around him. He hadn’t realized he’d been so invested in the stranger’s life. He chalked it up to not wanting even a stranger to die on an operating table and promptly dismissed the thought that the boy, as they’d wheeled him out the day before, had looked particularly soft. He’d smiled at Eddie, big glasses and dark curls and freckles shining in the white light, and then, he’d thrown Eddie a wink that made him flush. </p><p>“Wish me luck,” he’d said, and then was gone, leaving Eddie’s stomach in knots. </p><p>Eddie hadn’t had a chance to wish him luck. </p><p>“Yes,” the nurse told Eddie. “He should be back in the room within the hour.” Her eyes danced like she knew something he didn’t. He felt his face flush, even as he nodded and leaned his head back against the pillow. </p><p>“Do you know that boy, Eddie?” his mother asked, leaning close and dropping her voice into a stage-whisper. Eddie readied himself for whatever bullshit parenting his mother was about to implement on him loud enough so that the nurse could hear and just know beyond a shadow of a doubt how great of a mother she was, protecting her son from all the evils of the world and also from all the joy. </p><p>“Hardly,” Eddie answered through his teeth. He loved his mother but she was tap-dancing on his last straw of patience. They’d been cooped up together for the past three days, and what’s one woman’s heaven is another boy’s hell. </p><p>“I don’t want you talking to that boy, Eddie,” she hissed at him, her eyes wide. Eddie knew that look. Sonia Kaspbrak was about to start railing against the gay agenda. He felt his heart sink. “While you were sleeping, a boy came in to see him. They were <em>flirting</em>, Eddie.” </p><p>“So what, Ma?” Eddie muttered, clenching his eyes closed again. He regretted saying it immediately. It was better to keep his head down and just get through it. Questioning her only led to more disparagement. He didn’t know why, but her words always sunk into him, made him feel like he’d carry them around forever. </p><p>“So what?” she spluttered, reeling back. She opened her mouth, and Eddie braced for the worst. Just then, his nurse cleared her throat. Eddie glanced up at her. </p><p>“I’m so sorry to interrupt,” she said sweetly, a sharp contrast to the fire in her eyes. “Visiting hours are about to end.” Eddie’s mother looked up at her blankly.</p><p>“Yes?” she prompted, clearly not understanding the nurse’s intention. Eddie felt his stomach clench. He wanted to give the nurse a gold star for being willing to take on Eddie’s mother. He wanted to apologize to her, too, for all the wrath that was about to rain down on her. </p><p>“No visitors are allowed after nine,” the nurse said. Her eyes were unflinching, and some small part of Eddie thought she might be an even match for his mother. Hope bubbled up in spite of himself. </p><p>“I’ve been here for three days.”</p><p>“I am well aware, Mrs. Kaspbrak.” </p><p>“Excuse me?” </p><p>“It’s the hospital’s rule, not mine.” </p><p>“I’m not leaving my son.” Her hand stretched out and clomped protectively on his shoulder. Eddie flinched a bit. </p><p>“He’s in the best of hands.”</p><p>“<em>My</em> hands are the best of hands,” his mother spat, and Eddie’s head swiveled back up to the nurse. Her eyes shone in challenge. </p><p>“So, you <em>do</em> want to take him home?” she asked, and a muscle clenched in Sonia’s jaw. </p><p>Eddie held his breath. </p><p>Then, he thought, with his mother already worn down by her own logic used against her, he might <em>actually </em>stand a chance of getting some restful sleep that night. He’d just have to push her a little. </p><p>“You should go home, Mommy,” he said sweetly, smiling at her and batting his lashes. The act made his stomach sour a little. He didn’t tear his eyes away from his mother, but he thought he could see the nurse smirk. “I know you’ve been so worried about me. You deserve a nice, hot bath and a good night’s rest.” </p><p>For one heart-wrenching moment, his mother just stared at him. Then, he saw her eyebrows tug together the slightest amount, and he knew he’d won. He could have sung. He could have danced. </p><p>Ten minutes later, after about forty-trillion suffocating goodbyes, his mother had left. </p><p>“Thanks,” Eddie huffed to the nurse. She smiled, winked, and left him in blissful peace, even as the thin sheets scratched his bare legs.</p><p>Eddie had just settled into the first reassuring silence he’d experienced since he’d gotten to the hospital when his door opened again. He bit back a groan, half-expecting to see his mother traipsing back in having changed her mind about leaving him there. It wasn’t his mother, though. It was his roommate, chatting animatedly over his shoulder with the nurse who wheeled him in. He was shoveling ice chips into his maw every other word, and Eddie grimaced. </p><p>Still, he couldn’t tear his eyes off him as they wheeled past to the other side of the room. He caught Eddie’s eye and grinned. He wasn’t wearing his glasses anymore, Eddie noted idly. </p><p>“Your luck must have worked. They decided to keep me around a little longer,” he said. His voice sounded coarse and crackly. Eddie tried to remember the last time he’d heard the boy speak, but he was distracted by him motioning to the massive bandage peeking out from beneath his hospital robe. He blamed morbid curiosity for how red-faced looking at the boy’s chest made him feel. For the first time, his mother wasn’t breathing down his neck about the gays and the homosexuals, and Eddie could <em>talk</em> to him. </p><p>“I’m glad,” Eddie finally choked out, after what was probably too long of a silence. The boy didn’t seem to notice, just kept shoveling ice chips and grinning at him until he was across the paper partition. </p><p>Eddie thumped his head back, embarrassed without knowing why. He listened as his roommate got shifted from the wheelchair into his bed, trying to discern what was the nurse’s strained puffs of air from the boy’s pained grunts. At least, Eddie assumed it was painful. He couldn’t imagine that with a bandage that big, whatever operation his roommate had had wasn’t painful. </p><p>“Hey, send Bev in, would you?” the boy asked, once the groaning and creaking of his bed had died down. </p><p>“Sure thing,” the nurse answered, wheeling the now-empty chair back across Eddie’s side and out of the room.</p><p> Once the nurse was gone, Eddie felt his heart ringing in his ears. All he could hear was the crunching of ice chips. </p><p>“God, you’re quiet,” the boy said after a long while, and a startled laugh caught in Eddie’s throat. </p><p>“You just came out of surgery!” Eddie retorted at the paper screen, his voice jittery. He was suddenly glad the curtain was there. He felt a little manic, full of nervous energy and fidgeting fingers. Eddie took a steadying breath. “Thought you might like a little peace and quiet for your recovery.” </p><p>“Aww,” the boy crooned. He craned his neck back so Eddie could see a sliver of his eyes between the edge of the curtain and the wall. Eddie ducked away, then rolled his eyes at himself. He was being stupid. Eddie Kaspbrak was a grown-ass, seventeen-year-old man. He could look another boy in the face. Even if doing so sent a shockwave through his body. He leaned back into the boy’s line of view tentatively, and the boy took it as an invitation to continue. “You were worried about lil ole me?” he asked, his voice half-teasing. Eddie scoffed. </p><p>“I barely know you,” he said. It was to both the boy and himself. A reminder not to be so fucking <em>weird</em>. The boy shrugged his eyebrows—Eddie didn’t know that was a thing people did. </p><p>“Well, don’t worry. I’ve been out of surgery for a solid day now. Been hanging out in ICU, getting pumped full of pain meds and these sweet, delicious ice chips.” The boy grunted, and Eddie watched his partition-cast shadow throw the cup back and gnaw into its contents. Frankly, it was a wonder he hadn’t spilled them all over himself with how aggressively he was going at them. Eddie saw his shadow lower the cup back, then his eyes reappeared in the curtain-slit. “So, talk away, man. I don’t really dig the silence.” </p><p>Eddie thought, with the little sliver he could see of his eyes, that the other boy was grimacing. </p><p>Eddie snorted. </p><p>“I’m somehow not surprised by that,” he said, smiling. </p><p>“A two-minute conversation and already you know me so well,” the boy said. “I’m Richie, by the way.” </p><p>“Eddie.” </p><p>“Well, though under unfortunate circumstances it may be, Eddie, it is a pleasure to meet you,” Richie said, his voice lilting into what Eddie could only imagine was supposed to be a British accent. He snorted again. (God, what was it about this guy that made Eddie keep snorting? Not. Attractive.) (Not that he cared about being attractive to some guy he’d just met in a questionably cleaned hospital room.)</p><p>“Was that supposed to be British?” Eddie asked before he could spiral down into the thought process of who he wanted to find him attractive. His mother’s voice rang in his ears, telling him Richie had been flirting with a guy. The thought made Eddie’s stomach turn. </p><p>“Yeah, man!” Richie said, his eyes alighting in the sliver Eddie could see of him. “I do all kinds of impressions. British guy, wrestler guy, Southern Belle—” Richie was suddenly cut off by the same nurse who had gone toe-to-toe with his mother. </p><p>“And every one of them is trash, Rich,” she said, smiling warmly at Richie. Eddie blinked. He hadn’t even heard her come back in. She smiled at Eddie then continued on towards Richie’s side of the room.</p><p>“They don’t call me ‘Trashmouth’ for nothing, Bevvy,” Richie answered easily, lifting his head away from the crack so that all Eddie could see was the dark line of his curls hanging over the neck of his hospital gown. Eddie swallowed. </p><p>“How are you feeling, kid?” she asked. Eddie looked back towards his TV, doing what he could to give them their privacy. He’d forgotten to turn the volume up, but at least it was <em>Tom &amp; Jerry</em> now. They didn’t really say much to begin with. </p><p>“I feel like someone just carved a big hole in my chest and went digging for change,” Richie answered, his voice light, and Eddie reeled. He sounded so cavalier and blasé about his operation. Just the thought of going into surgery was enough to have Eddie itching for his inhaler. </p><p>“Yeah, that’s pretty much what happened,” the nurse, Bev, answered, sounding just as breezy as Richie had. </p><p>“So, when are they gonna let me blow this popsicle stand?” Richie asked, and Eddie thought he heard Bev snort. Eddie took solace in the sound. Maybe it was just a Richie-thing, making people snort. It didn’t mean anything. </p><p>“You <em>literally</em> just had open-heart surgery, Richie. You’ll be here at least a week.” Richie groaned, and Eddie saw the crown of his head fall back into sight. </p><p>“I’m bored already,” he groaned. “And hungry.”</p><p>“You know the rules, my dude. Ice chips for 48 hours.” Eddie thought he saw her shadow pass him something suspiciously Jell-O-cup-shaped. “It’s a good sign that you’re hungry though. A lot of people don’t want to eat anything.”</p><p> Richie groaned. “I could eat a whole fucking pizza right now, Bev. I swear to God.” Eddie smiled. Tom crashed into a frying pan on his screen, and Eddie smiled at the antics of the boy beyond the curtain. </p><p>“It’s probably your stupid young-child metabolism,” Bev answered, sounding only slightly bitter. Eddie thought she was probably right. Richie did look like a shriveled bean-sprout in his hospital bed. </p><p>“I’m seventeen, sweetheart. You’re, what, two years older than me?” </p><p>“I’m twenty-five, Rich,” Bev answered. If an eyeroll could make a sound, Eddie just heard it. He smiled again. </p><p>“You know I’m blind. Your whole face is nothing but an ageless blob to me.” </p><p>“Just how I like ‘em.” </p><p>“Kinky.”</p><p>“Well, listen, I’ve got rounds to make, but I’ll be back in a bit with more pain meds for you, okay?” </p><p>“An angel, I tell you,” Richie said. Eddie thought maybe it was Italian guy? Russian guy? Eddie felt suddenly brave.</p><p>“You really are trash at that,” he called across the curtain. Bev and Richie both went quiet for a moment, and Eddie felt his breath catch. </p><p>See, Eddie had this habit of being…well, an asshole. He didn’t know why he did it. It wasn’t like he was <em>trying</em> to be mean. Usually, it was the opposite. Usually, it was him genuinely trying to make friends. Usually, it was stomaching down that look of repulsion that people flashed his way for being such a cock and feeling his face turn into a heat lamp. </p><p>Somewhere between Eddie feeling the shame wash through him and wanting to sink into the mattress, into the floor, down into the floor below them, he thought wryly that it spoke volumes of his home-life that the only way he knew how to connect with people was through constant criticism. Eddie braced himself for the repulsion, <em>that tone of voice</em>, another <em>God, you don’t always have to be such a fucking asshole, Eddie</em>. </p><p>Then, the room went up into a loud round of cackling from both Bev and Richie. </p><p>Eddie held his breath, blindingly sure that they were laughing <em>at</em> him, that he was the butt of the joke. Well, served him right. He thought longingly again of the mattress, the floor, the floor down below them, but then, Richie’s voice pushed through the laughter. </p><p>“Yo, Beverly,” Richie called, sounding winded. “Push the curtain back so I can stare into the face of man who just wounded the wounded.” And he didn’t sound upset. Or repulsed. He sounded…amused. </p><p>“Decimated, more like,” Beverly muttered. Eddie’s heart flopped over. Bev sounded nothing but amused as well. Eddie barely had time to brace himself before she was pulling the curtain aside, and there Richie was, in all his red-faced, orange-lipped, bandaged-chest glory, grinning at Eddie. Then, the grin fell.</p><p>“Aw, fuck!” he shouted hoarsely, turning his face back towards Beverly. </p><p>“What is it?” she asked concernedly, stepping forward with her hands already outstretched. </p><p>“I forgot I can’t see shit!” Richie exclaimed. Eddie felt a giggle rise up in him, bubble out. “Fuck, Bev,” Richie groaned. “I bet he looked good giggling like a school-girl. Tell me how good he looked. Eds, did you look good?” Richie’s head swung back around to squint at Eddie, and Eddie felt his stomach roll again. It was the same sick feeling he’d gotten thinking about Richie flirting with a guy. </p><p>“Don’t call me that,” Eddie mumbled, but Richie just beamed at him. Eddie felt very sure his face was <em>very</em> red. </p><p>“He looked beautiful, Rich,” Bev said, winking over at Eddie. </p><p>“Hm, I’ll bet,” Richie said, his head falling back against the pillows. </p><p>“Where are your glasses at?” Beverly asked and stepped around the foot of Richie’s bed to search for them. </p><p>“My mom’s purse,” Richie said glumly. </p><p>“Oof, bummer. I’ll see if maybe we have some of those little goggle glasses we strap to toddlers.” Bev grinned widely at Richie, then patted his shin through the blanket. </p><p>“Fuck off,” he said, then continued. “But actually, that would be nice. I am very vulnerable blind.” </p><p>“I know,” Bev said sympathetically. Then, she reached out, lightning quick, and thumped Richie square in the forehead. </p><p>“Hey!” he protested, rubbing where she’d knocked him. </p><p>Beverly just grinned wider. “Call me if you need anything, yeah?” </p><p>“Yeah, yeah, whatever, you big meany,” Richie said, pouting. </p><p>“You too, Eddie,” Beverly said, then made her way out of their room. </p><p>“Your parents didn’t stay?” Eddie asked tentatively once Bev was gone. </p><p>Richie shook his head. “Nah, they stayed with me through recovery to make sure I wouldn’t, like, spontaneously die.” Eddie cringed. “Then, they went to pick up my little sister and get some sleep. Besides, if they stayed every time I’m in the hospital, they’d never go the fuck home.” Richie barked out a laugh, as though he thought it were funny. Eddie bit back a roll of his stomach. He knew the feeling of being in a hospital way more than enjoyable. </p><p>“Your mom gets off by you being in the hospital, too?” Eddie asked. </p><p>“What? No," Richie said. His smile wavered like he wasn't sure if he was supposed to laugh or not. </p><p>Eddie felt his face redden, and he turned back to the TV. Jerry really was a little shit. </p><p>Richie went on. “I have a h—” He stumbled. “History of staph,” he finished, and Eddie grimaced.</p><p>“Eww,” he said, on instinct. Then, he realized how it sounded, even to his own ears. The asshole in him raging again. “Sorry. I mean, it’s not like you can help it or anything. Sorry. That was rude,” he stumbled out, but Richie just laughed. </p><p>“No, it’s alright. Shit happens, you know?” he said and shrugged. </p><p>“Why’d you need open-heart surgery for a staph infection?” Eddie asked, furrowing his brow. Richie turned back to Eddie, even though he couldn’t see him. The gaze made Eddie warm all the same. </p><p>“Yeah, that doesn’t make a lot of sense, does it?” Richie said with a shrug. Eddie was just about to push for more when Richie tossed his now-empty Jell-O cup towards the garbage can with a sharp, “Kobe!” It fell flatly against the foot of his bed. </p><p>“Nice,” Eddie teased, and Richie turned to pout at him.</p><p>“We’ve already established that I’m blind, Eddie Spaghetti.”</p><p>“God, that’s worse than ‘Eds’,” Eddie groaned. </p><p>Richie continued without missing a beat. </p><p>“It stays. Now, not only are you harassing the <em>grievously</em> injured…” Richie motioned to his chest bandage with a dramatic flourish. </p><p>Eddie snorted. </p><p>“You look fine to me,” Eddie shot back.</p><p>“Why, thank you, Spaghedward,” Richie said, winking and waggling his eyebrows. </p><p>Eddie groaned again to cover how warm he felt from accidentally calling Richie fine.</p><p>“It got worse.”</p><p>“But now, you’re harassing the blind?! Who raised you!” Richie shouted, finally finishing the point he’d started a solid forty seconds earlier. </p><p>Eddie just grinned.  </p><p>“If we’ve established that you’re blind and ‘grievously’ injured,” Eddie started, “Then, we’ve also established that I don’t have the most functional of families.” Richie’s brow furrowed.</p><p>“Yeah, what’s up with that? Don’t you just have a broken arm?”</p><p>“What, tired of me already?” Eddie teased, reveling in the way Richie’s eyes widened. </p><p>“What? No! God, no. You’re, like, the funnest roommate I’ve had!” Eddie went warm all over again. </p><p>“<em>Most fun</em>, and shut up,” Eddie said. There was no bite to it at all. He wished to God there had been. Maybe then, Richie wouldn’t be staring at him so soft, so fucking blind. </p><p>“So, what’s the story?” Richie asked after a quiet moment. </p><p>“What story?” </p><p>“Why have you been in here for three days with nothing but a broken arm?” </p><p>“And a concussion,” Eddie mumbled, as though that justified it. He knew it didn’t. He knew his mom still sounded fucking crazy demanding they keep him another night. He was glad Richie hadn’t been around to hear that. </p><p>“Oh, no, no, no. I heard Bev tell your mom when you got here that you probably weren’t concussed,” Richie said, and Eddie flushed at the thought of Richie listening in, just like Eddie had been. He shoved the feeling away.</p><p>“I don’t know,” Eddie said with a self-conscious shrug. “I wiped out pretty hard.” </p><p>“On the steps of the library,” he said, raising a dubious eyebrow. Eddie flushed again. </p><p>“I was on my bike,” Eddie admitted. “Me and my friends were racing down a hill. I hit a rock.” He said the last part like it was a secret. It kind of was. It was fucking stupid, overall. </p><p>“A rock,” Richie repeated. </p><p>Eddie’s chin jutted up, challenging. He knew it was fucking stupid, but he didn’t need some stranger criticizing him for it. Shit happens, just like Richie had said. </p><p>“I didn’t give you shit for being so grimy that you needed open-heart surgery for a staph infection. Don’t give me shit for hitting a rock! Those fuckers are everywhere!” He had half a second to berate himself for assholery again, before Richie threw his head back and laughed, loud and long. Eddie thought dimly that he’d finally met someone who appreciated his asshole tendencies. </p><p>Then, his face flamed scarlet at his thought’s poor word choice. </p><p>“Fair enough, Spaghetti,” Richie huffed finally, settling back into his hospital bed and grinning over at Eddie. Eddie’s stomach flipped for the millionth fucking time. Maybe that, like the snorting, was just a Richie-thing, too. He realized a beat too late that he’d missed his chance to rebuff Richie for calling him <em>Spaghetti</em>. Richie grinned like he knew it, too, then he nodded his head towards the TV. “Turn that shit up, would you? I love <em>Tom &amp; Jerry</em>.”</p><p>“You would love <em>Tom &amp; Jerry</em>,” Eddie said, rolling his eyes and heaving himself up out of bed for the first time in what felt like years. He thought his knees might give out, like his muscles had atrophied or some shit. He felt like a little Bambi. </p><p>“<em>Tom &amp; Jerry</em> is an American classic,” Richie rejoined, his eyes raking over Eddie and his flimsy hospital gown as he made his way across the room to the little TV posted between their beds. </p><p>It made him feel warm. </p><p>The banter, of course. </p><p>Richie, according to Richie, was blind as shit. He probably couldn’t even see Eddie in his flimsy hospital gown. </p><p>It was just the banter.</p><p>Eddie turned the knob, and suddenly, Tom’s frantic scrambling was full of whistles and bubbling. He took a moment to appreciate the cartoon’s wacky backing and the brief reprieve it offered Eddie to push down the hot feeling creeping up his neck. Then, a quick knock sounded at the door. </p><p>“Come in,” Richie called, as though it weren’t a shared space between them, as though the nurse wouldn’t come in anyway if neither had answered. Eddie rolled his eyes, not really minding, and stumbled back to his covers just as Bev poked her head in. </p><p>“Look what I found,” she sing-songed. Then, she held up a small, pink pair of thick-lensed goggle-glasses. </p><p>“I’m blind, but please tell me those glasses aren’t fucking pink,” Richie said with a groan. Eddie snorted. </p><p>“They’re pink, bud,” Eddie told him, firmer in the way he felt okay to tease Richie. Bev laughed as she came in, stretching the goggle strap. </p><p>“They’ll look great on you, Rich,” she assured. “Plus, you know. You’ll be able to see, so don’t be a bitch.” </p><p>“Fuck you,” Richie answered but took them from her anyway. </p><p>“Pink was all we had in your ridiculously heinous prescription.”</p><p>“I don’t need judgement,” Richie said, struggling to fit the goggles onto his face. “I just need help getting this strap loose enough to not turn my head gourd-shaped.” </p><p>“Too late,” Eddie quipped before he could stop himself. Beverly threw her head back and laughed again, clutching her stomach. Eddie grinned. </p><p>“We talked about this, Eds!” Richie shouted, swinging around once the glasses were on and glaring at Eddie, even as Eddie giggled. The fire in Richie’s eyes lasted exactly .03 seconds, as he took a good look at Eddie with glasses that made his eyesight passable. “Christ,” he breathed, looking for all the world like he’d just seen a galaxy being formed. Eddie squirmed. “I was right. You <em>do</em> look good giggling.” Richie stared at Eddie for another second before grinning widely and winking. Eddie rolled his eyes, working very hard to will away how fluttery he felt inside. </p><p>“Is he always like this?” he asked Beverly, and she shrugged.</p><p>“What, you mean a big, ole shameless flirt?” she asked, cutting Richie a look. Eddie’s heart stuttered at the word. He remembered his mother’s hissed warning. Beverly went on, as though Eddie didn’t feel like he was standing in a crumbling house. “All the time.”</p><p>“Don’t listen to her. It’s only you, Eddie, my love,” Richie said, batting his eyelashes. There was a faint dusting of red beneath Richie’s freckles. Eddie got the sudden urge to brush his fingers across it. Or his lips. </p><p>Then, he blinked and turned back to the TV, feeling very much like scrambled eggs, missing his chance to quip back at Richie, leaving the group in silence. </p><p>It felt like a record had scratched in the room, and Eddie burned with shame. He’d been thinking about pressing his lips against the curve of Richie’s cheek. Like a queer.</p><p>Bev cleared her throat. </p><p>“Well, I should get going,” she said after a long moment. Eddie watched Tom chase Jerry around, endlessly, while Jerry averted and deflected, his chest tight. “You know how to find me.” </p><p>Bev’s red hair blocked the television for a moment, then the door to their room was clicking shut again. </p><p>“You okay, Eddie?” Richie asked tentatively, and Eddie forced his eyes away from the TV with a bright smile. He felt sure it fell flat. </p><p>“Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked and regretted it. Richie was chewing on his still-Jell-O-orange lip. </p><p>“I mean, I dunno. I guess me flirting with you? I’ll stop if you want. I was just joking around. I really am kind of a flirt.” </p><p>Richie went a little redder in the face, and Eddie didn’t have the heart to dig through all the sight of it did to Eddie. It was too confusing. Made him feel too much like he really <em>was</em> sick, like all the ailments his mother had painted on him were suddenly real and howling for vengeance. </p><p>“I know, actually. My mom told me,” Eddie said instead. Richie’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline. Or as close as they could get, what with the toddler-goggles tethering them. </p><p>“Oh, did she?” he asked. His voice sounded half-challenging, half-intrigued. </p><p>Eddie blanched. </p><p>“Well, yeah,” he stumbled, trying to think of a good lie, a good reason why his mother would have said that about a perfect stranger. He couldn’t. “She said you were flirting with a guy that had come to visit you,” he admitted finally. </p><p>Richie’s eyebrows strained against the goggles again, this time pulling together. After a second, they sprung apart again.</p><p>“Oh, Mikey? <em>Fuck</em> no,” Richie said. There was humor in his face, and Eddie slowly let out a relieved breath. It was solely for the relief of Richie not being pissed off. Had nothing at all to do with him not having been flirting with some guy. And if it <em>had</em> had something to do with Richie not having been flirting with some guy, it was not at all the rapid retreating of jealousy, but rather, a firm comfort in knowing he wouldn’t have been flirting with a <em>boy</em>. </p><p>For the second time in two hours, Eddie’s relief was short-lived. </p><p>“I mean, well, <em>yeah</em>,” Richie went on. “I guess we were flirting, but that’s just how we are. It didn’t mean anything. Mikey’s like family, plus dude’s straight as an arrow.” </p><p>“And you?” he asked, his voice barely there. He couldn’t look up at Richie. There was too much shame burning in him, like Richie would take one look at him, hear his question, and <em>know</em> immediately, even though Eddie himself had never had the nerve to look at it head-on. Eddie quickly convinced himself he was asking purely for the sake of being fully informed enough to heed his mother’s warning. </p><p>Richie considered him for a long moment. </p><p>“I’m bi,” he said finally. The word rattled around between them, and Eddie just stared straight ahead, his heart slamming. “Guys and girls.” </p><p>“I know what bi means,” Eddie snapped back. Richie went quiet. Stayed quiet.</p>
<hr/><p>The downside to having a congenital heart condition, in Richie’s opinion, was that beautiful boys like Eddie tended to make his life a little…well, precarious. </p><p>They laughed, teased, grinned at him with reckless abandon, and the fresh stent supporting his aorta gave tumultuous tremors. Or, maybe it didn’t. Who knew? Maybe Richie was making that part up. He didn’t think having a crush on a cute boy really had much to do with his physical heart, but it sure was jumping around a lot.</p><p>The downside to having a congenital heart condition, in Richie’s opinion, was that, once that word, <em>bi</em>, left Richie’s lips, Eddie had gone ramrod straight, his eyes lasered in on the TV, lip trembling, and all Richie could do was follow suit. Turn ahead. Ignore the brass knuckles pounding at his heart. Stomach the disappointment. Tell himself he wasn’t wrong, that it was the world who was wrong. </p><p>He wasn’t mad at Eddie for reacting the way he did. He’d gotten a fuck-of-a-lot worse. But Eddie was beautiful and funny and had a razor-sharp tongue to keep Richie feeling alive for just one more minute, and Richie…well, Richie had <em>hoped</em>. That was his own fault.</p><p>He just stared ahead at the TV, wondering when, in his life of having to leave school and his friends and his parents choking down sobs in stark-white hallways and doctors telling him he’d be lucky to see thirty, he’d stop being eviscerated by disappointment.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Eddie loses his nerve (and his lunch) and Richie responds in kind.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tw: mentions of period-typical homophobia, slurs, vomiting, panic attacks</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
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    <em>July ‘93</em>
 
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</div><p>Richie woke up a few times in the night to Bev quietly taking his vitals, asking if he needed more pain meds, brushing her hand down his shoulder.</p><p>He loved Bev. She was older, but she didn’t take his shit, and she gave as good as she got. She didn’t treat him like he was fragile. Like he was just some poor fucker kid trapped in a hospital. He didn’t mind being stuck there so much when she was on duty. And he thought, but she would never admit, that Bev had a habit of picking up extra shifts anytime Richie had an extended stay in the hospital. He loved her and squeezed her hand before she tiptoed past Eddie back out into the hall.

</p><p>Eddie was sleeping soundly, having turned towards Richie sometime in the night, his mouth open, hair plastered to his face, drooling a little. Richie stared at him as Bev left, then turned away, because he’d only really known him for one conversation and already, it was too fucking painful. </p><p>Beautiful boys like Eddie made his life precarious. They looked like Creation when they giggled and drooled in their sleep and made Richie’s already-struggling heart groan and careen like a fucking Blue Angel pilot knocking back barrel rolls in a rusted crop duster. </p><p>They made him yearn. </p><p><em>Eddie</em> made him yearn, and yearning was absolute shit. Especially when some obnoxious, persistent part of Richie told him when Eddie left, he’d never see him again. </p><p>He fought sleep for as long as he possibly could, but between one pull of his eyes closing and the next fluttering open, daylight had begun streaming in through the window, and he realized he'd fallen asleep. He’d missed his chance. </p><p>Eddie’s mother was clucking around, gathering his things while Eddie stood to the side in a T-shirt and a pair of short-shorts—Christ, if Richie’s own body didn’t destroy his heart, those shorts fucking would. Bev stood in the doorway with her arms crossed, looking between them like she could <em>feel</em> Richie’s dismay. She probably could, knowing her.</p><p>“You’re leaving, Eds?” Richie asked blearily, then groaned. He was well overdue for his pain meds, he could tell, and Bev was crossing to him in an instant. Richie heard Eddie’s mother hiss his name, and Eddie’s sharp reply.</p><p>“Don’t, Mom,” he said, and then Bev was there, adjusting his IV bag until the world began to swim a little. </p><p>Maybe<em> that</em> was the worst part about having a congenital heart condition. Being too fucked-out on pain meds to tell the beautiful boy beside him a proper goodbye. He thought he croaked one out. Thought he called him Spaghetti. </p><p>Then, Eddie's mother tugged him huffily out of the room. The pain meds pulled him under again. </p><p>When he woke up next, the sunlight from the window had nearly reached his feet. He tried to curb his Eddie-less existence by counting back the tiles to the window. He spent a solid twenty minutes wallowing, watching the sun creep further into the room, before vowing to put Eddie out of his mind entirely. </p><p>He went to work at forgetting Eddie immediately. It was nearly eleven. His mom would probably be by soon with his sister, Nicole—and his regular glasses, no more of this goggle bullshit—and his dad would be in after work with a blue plate from that diner near his office. Richie’s mouth watered just thinking about it. </p><p>But still, he had a few hours to kill before anyone but Bev showed up—not that she wasn’t a blast—and nothing good was on TV. He could do his homework. Even though it was still July, and even though Richie knew he was a smart kid, he was pretty consistently behind thanks to his stupid heart, and he stayed struggling to catch up. </p><p>He dragged out his calculus notebook resignedly and stared at the already foreign scratchings of derivatives and proofs without seeing them. </p><p>It didn’t take long for his mind to wander to Eddie, try as he might. </p><p>He’d felt <em>so sure</em> the way Eddie’s eyes stuck on him had been less than platonic. Or maybe he’d just deluded himself with the stupid, intoxicating hope that it had been. Fuck, even if Eddie had thought of him less than platonically, he clearly hadn’t worked through his sexuality yet.</p><p>Easier said than done, Richie knew. He had felt the shame for so long. </p><p>Then, he’d realized that he was going to die young and that there was no point in hiding who he was. His parents were fine with it. Richie guessed that having a kid on death row really put his non-conformist sexuality into perspective. </p><p>But Richie knew. He understood Eddie’s fear intimately. His heart gave a painful, aching lurch at the idea, and he sharply reminded himself he <em>wasn’t</em> thinking about Eddie. There was no point in it. He’d probably never see him again anyway. </p><p>Richie spent a helluva boring next three days in the hospital. He dicked around with Bev when she came by, threw paper airplanes at his sister’s face, and played slaps with Mike and Stan. He thought about Eddie a lot and spent a lot of time dragging himself away from the thoughts. </p><p>By day four without Eddie as a roommate, he’d almost broken the loop of his mind constantly slipping back towards the boy. Stan had come by with melty milkshakes, and they sat in relative silence, slurping away at them. </p><p>“So, four more days?” Stan asked, leaning back in the recliner by Richie’s bedside. </p><p>Richie rattled the straw of his milkshake, trying to dislodge a cookie dough glob. </p><p>“Yeah,” Richie answered, then sucked. The glob ratcheted up into his throat and played pin-ball with his tonsils. He hacked. “Shit,” he wheezed, once he’d swallowed. </p><p>Stan gave him a bemused look, his eyebrows high on his face. “Don’t tell me we’re going to have to get you a feeding tube next,” he said. Richie knew he was trying to look bored, but there was a soft spot of fondness in his voice.</p><p>“All the better to guzzle down these delicious milkshakes, my dear,” Richie said, putting on his best wolf-pretending-to-be-Granny voice. Stan rolled his eyes. “Could you imagine, though? Them just straight-up pouring a milkshake into a feeding tube.”</p><p>“You know that’s not how it works, right?”</p><p>“Why not?”</p><p>“I don’t know, Rich. They probably regulate what you eat. I doubt cookie dough milkshakes are on the approved list," Stan said, tossing the remains of his milkshake into the trash. </p><p>“Are you leaving?” Richie asked. He tried not to sound too disappointed. </p><p>“Yeah. Visiting hours are almost up, and I want to see Eddie.” Stan stood and smoothed his shirt down, all casual, like Richie hadn’t gone alarmingly still at the mention of he-who-shall-not-be-named. Really, He hadn’t mentioned his name to Stan. Oh, of course, he’d waxed poetic and moaned pathetic about the boy nearly every time either he or Mike had come to see him, but he’d been careful not to mention his name. It tore into him every time he even thought it. </p><p>“Eddie?” Richie echoed after a second, and yeah, speaking it was like razors skidding down his spine. </p><p>“He’s a friend of mine. He moved to Derry right after you left school.” </p><p>“Oh,” Richie said cautiously. He tried to ignore the way his heart monitor had started beeping anxiously. It was probably just a coincidence. </p><p> Stan turned to look at him, his brow furrowed. </p><p>“You alright, Rich?” he asked and glanced over at the monitor, still beeping, still skittering. </p><p>“Yeah,” Richie hurried to say, shaking his head and putting his milkshake down on the table. “Your friend, he’s…here in the hospital?” Richie worked to make his voice sound just the right level of interested. Not at all like he hoped Stan’s friend Eddie was the same Eddie Richie had spent the last four days <em>not</em> making himself crazy over. Stan looked at Richie like he didn’t buy it for a second. Stan was always good at sniffing out Richie’s bullshit, but he usually indulged it anyway. Like now, for example.</p><p>“Yes,” Stan said, watching Richie carefully. “His mom’s sort of a psycho. Eddie threw up, like, once three days ago, and she dragged him here.” Richie’s heart monitor wailed at him. Stan’s eyes flicked over to it, concern obvious on his face. </p><p>“Wait, his mom’s a psycho, and Eddie’s been here for <em>three days</em>?” Richie asked. The coincidence was too much. And the sting of knowing Eddie had been there for three days and hadn’t even come to see if Richie was still alive…that was too much, too. </p><p>“He just checked in today,” Stan said. Richie’s chest loosened a bit, not that his screaming monitor would tell. “Rich, are you sure you’re okay?” </p><p>“Holy fuck,” Richie answered instead, bringing a hand to his forehead. It was <em>all</em> too fucking much. He needed to know if it was Eddie, <em>his</em> Eddie. He pushed on, ignoring Stan’s ever-growing worry. “Small guy? Mouth like a whip? Fuckin’ chocolate, doe-y eyes?”</p><p>“<em>Why?</em> ” Stan asked. Richie huffed, impatient. </p><p>“Yes or no, Stanley!” </p><p>“Yes! Alright? That sounds like my Eddie.” </p><p>Richie tried not to feel a rush of jealousy at Stan calling him <em>his</em> Eddie. If it was the same Eddie, he and Stan were friends. Richie was just some guy in a hospital room who had freaked him the fuck out by being bi.</p><p> “How do <em>you</em> know him?” Stan asked. He was glaring at Richie like he already knew.</p><p>“I think…” Richie sighed. “Fuck, Stan. I think he was my roommate. You know, the one—” Stan cut him off quickly with a wave of his hand.</p><p>“Yes. I know the one, Richie.” He sounded much less like he was having to work to cover his amusement. He didn’t sound amused at all. “Fuck, Richie. You’ve got a crush on Eddie Kaspbrak?” He sounded exasperated. Richie tried not to let it show when he squirreled away Eddie’s last name for future notebook doodling. </p><p>“I didn’t know you were friends.” </p><p>“I didn’t know Eddie was into dumb Trashmouths.” </p><p>Richie’s eyes flicked up to Stan.</p><p>“You think he’s into me?” he asked, before he could stop himself, and Stan groaned. </p><p>“Ask him yourself, you idiot,” Stan shot, then shook his head. “Wait. Don’t. Don’t touch him, Richie.” Richie opened his mouth to protest, but Stan shook his head with even more fervor. “I’m serious. He’s one of my best friends. I don’t need you tearing into his life and making him love you and fucking leaving him.” </p><p>Stan’s words rang. Richie stared at him, slack-jawed. Richie knew he was going to die young. He knew he was going to leave the people who cared about him behind and broken. He knew that. He just wasn’t used to people outright saying it like that. Stan’s eyes were wide.</p><p>“Shit, Richie, I didn’t…” </p><p>“No, it’s okay. You’re right,” Richie said. He cleared his throat and tried to put on a smile. His hands were trembling in his lap, so he tucked them under his thighs. “I’m here to leave a beautiful corpse, not a beautiful widow.” </p><p>Stan flinched. </p><p>“I really didn’t mean it like that, Richie,” he murmured. “I was just thinking about Katie Oakes.” </p><p>Richie remembered Katie. She and Stan had been friends before Richie made out with her. He’d broken it off when he realized he actually liked her, swearing it would be easier in the long run. Either way, the sentiment was the same. He was aiming for a beautiful corpse. Not a beautiful widow. </p><p>It wasn’t fair to get close to anyone.</p><p>“It’s okay,” Richie repeated. He tried again to smile at Stan, but he suddenly felt very far away from everyone. Very alone. “I hope Eddie gets well soon.” </p><p>Stan looked pained, like he wanted to say more, but Richie just smiled at him, feeling his fingers ratcheting around under his legs. </p><p>“I’m sorry, Rich,” Stan said after a moment, then left, crossing what was once Eddie’s side of the room with quick steps. </p><p>Richie sat there for a long while, his eyes staring at the logo on his milkshake cup without really seeing it. He wasn’t thinking about anything, really. Just feeling alone. </p><p>A knock sounded at the door, and Richie blinked, looking around. The sunlight had somehow slid out of his room while he’d stared at the cup, leaving waning moonlight in its place.</p><p>“Come in,” he called. He blinked a few more times, then turned, expecting to see Beverly toting a fresh pack of meds for his IV. Instead, Eddie stood in the doorway, looking sheepish, barefooted, and not at all happy about that. Richie’s heart gave a painful lurch. </p><p>“Hey,” Eddie said, shifting his weight. Richie just stared at him. His hands were still tucked under his legs, so he turned one over, pinching the underside of his thigh as discreetly as he could. Eddie didn’t disappear, despite looking for all the world like he wanted to. Those big fucking doe eyes shifted to the still-empty bed where he’d once slept. “No new roommate?” he asked, and Richie swallowed. </p><p>“No one could replace you, Eds,” he said. He’d meant to sound too sugar-sweet or to throw in a wink and make it teasing. Mostly, he thought he sounded soft. In the dim moonlight falling through the window, Richie thought he saw Eddie’s face darken a hair. Eddie motioned for the light switch.</p><p>“Can I?” he asked. Richie nodded, and the room exploded with light and brilliance, and yeah, the lights overhead flickered on, too. Richie bit back a groan.</p><p><em>Beautiful corpse</em>, he reminded himself sharply. </p><p>Eddie stepped further into the room, looking like he wasn’t sure. Richie watched in guilty wonderment as Eddie scanned the room. He realized after a second that Eddie was probably looking for someplace to sit. </p><p>Richie scooted up in his bed, making room for him.</p><p>“Here,” Richie said, patting the space by his knees. Only when a look of dread washed over Eddie’s face did Richie remember that there were other places to sit. A whole empty bed. <em>Two</em> recliners. The fucking floor. “Or you know, wherever,” Richie said. He shrugged, tried to sound like he didn’t want Eddie as close as physically possible. </p><p>“Thanks,” Eddie mumbled and, wonder of all wonders, took a hesitant seat beside Richie’s knees. The minty hospital gown hung off Eddie’s shoulder, and Richie hurried to keep his eyes locked on Eddie’s. </p><p>Silence filled the space between them, and Richie could feel the warmth from Eddie’s back in every inch of his existence. His heart monitor skittered, the traitor. </p><p>“So, you’re back,” Richie said after a moment. </p><p>“Yeah. I would have been by sooner, but my mom just left.” Richie felt a smile tug at his lips.</p><p>“I meant, you’re back in the hospital, but good to know you couldn’t keep away from this hunk of burnin’ love.” Richie waggled his eyebrows before he could stop himself. Then, he wanted to die when he remembered how Eddie’s mood had soured the last time he’d tried to flirt with him. He was just about to apologize when Eddie spoke up.</p><p>“If it burns when you make love, you should probably see a doctor,” Eddie said, giving Richie a mischievous look. </p><p>Richie felt like he was going to explode. His heart monitor gave a ridiculous string of expletives, and Richie knew the feeling. If Eddie saying something so embarrassingly tame and romantic like, “make love,” could make him jelly-legged, he was absolutely a goner. One quick turn of phrase, and Richie was down for the count. </p><p>“Well, I’m in a good place to need a doctor, Eds,” Richie said. There had been too long of a pause before, but Eddie’s eyes just danced.</p><p>“Don’t call me that,” he warned, but there was no bite to it. Richie sat there for a long moment. He knew he was staring. But Eddie was giving him this soft fucking smile, and Richie had worked for four days to keep his mind off Eddie. </p><p>Plus, he was dying. He deserved to indulge a little. </p><p>“So, you’ve got a stomach flu?” Richie said eventually. Eddie ducked his head. </p><p>“Er…not exactly.” He looked sheepishly at his hands. Richie nudged him with his knee, and Eddie sighed, tipping his head to the side to offer a small grin. “I mean, I <em>did</em>, but I feel fine now.”</p><p>“Psycho mom?” </p><p>“Not exactly,” Eddie said again. His eyes danced, and Richie’s heart flopped with a new possibility. </p><p>Could…could Eddie have <em>faked</em> being sick just so he could come back and see Richie? His monitor screeched at him, and Richie swallowed. He couldn’t fathom the possibility, so he pushed it aside. </p><p>“You and Staniel are friends?” Richie asked instead. Eddie cleared his throat, then laughed. </p><p>“Yeah. He told me that you called him Staniel.” </p><p>“Jesus, it’s never a good thing when Stanny gets to talking about me,” Richie said with a groan and a grin. Eddie snorted. Richie warmed all over at the sound. </p><p>“What is it with you and nicknames?”</p><p>Richie shrugged. </p><p>“I like nicknames.”</p><p>“Me too,” Eddie said quietly, still smiling at Richie. He looked fucking beautiful. <em>Fuck</em>, Richie was a goner. Absolutely a goner. </p><p>“You live in Derry?” Richie asked when he remembered how to breathe. Eddie nodded. </p><p>“Yeah, you know that big tree on Munroe?” Richie nodded. “That’s my house there.”</p><p>“Small world,” Richie hummed. He tried not to think about what it meant that Eddie lived so close to him. What it would mean, or could mean, in a different world.</p><p>“So, you’re homeschooled?” Eddie asked after a moment, and Richie shrugged.</p><p>“Yeah. That’s how me and Mike met, at the testing center.” </p><p>“Oh, yeah. I know Mike, too. Lives on that farm outside of town, right?”</p><p>“Yeah, he’s a cool dude.” </p><p>“I’ve seen him around. Henry Bowers gives him shit sometimes.” </p><p>“Who does Henry Bowers not give shit to?” Richie asked with a huff. “I could count on one hand the number of times that asshole has seen me and <em>not</em> called me a fag.” Eddie stiffened at the word, and Richie’s heart slammed painfully. “Sorry,” he said softly. He hadn’t meant to remind Eddie…</p><p>“Doesn’t it bother you?” Eddie asked, his voice very small. </p><p>Richie wanted to scoff. Then, he looked up at Eddie, still sitting close enough that Richie’s knee brushed his back. He looked petrified, like even just hearing the word, not directed at him, just hanging out, being offensive, made him shrink in on himself. Richie knew the feeling. </p><p>“Well, I mean,” Richie started carefully. “He’s not wrong, you know? I’m not straight.” He waited for Eddie to recoil, or to call him disgusting, or to bash his face in. He knew Eddie wasn’t comfortable with it, but he wanted to be real with Eddie, even if it cost Richie his perfectly straight nose. </p><p>But the blow never came. Eddie just closed his eyes and laced his fingers together. </p><p>“Yeah, but how do you live with it? With the world telling you you’re wrong?” Eddie asked finally. </p><p>Richie felt a knot of dread swirl through him. This was Eddie, he thought, asking for advice shouldering the weight of being a queer kid in Derry. Richie didn’t have an answer for that beyond, <em>learn you’re gonna die young and stop giving a shit</em>. But he couldn’t exactly tell Eddie that. Eddie didn’t even know Richie <em>was</em> going to die young. </p><p>There was also a small, fucking selfish part of his brain gleefully telling him, <em>Eddie likes boys, Eddie likes boys.</em> </p><p>“Assuming you’re asking for a friend,” Richie started, shoving the tugging of his emotions deep, <em>deep</em> down. “I would tell him that life is too fucking short.” </p><p>Eddie nodded a bit, his eyes still held tight, held closed. Richie didn’t think it was enough. </p><p>People, healthy people, heard the words, <em>Life’s too short</em>, but they didn’t get it. They couldn’t. Richie knew it wasn’t their fault, but fuck, he wanted to slap some sense into every single person he saw not living life out of fear. </p><p>Somehow, staring at Eddie, his lip trembling, hands knotted together, Richie didn’t think slapping him would do any good. Then in a voice barely above a whisper, Richie told him the truth of the matter, dying or not. </p><p>“I don’t think love is ever wrong, Eddie.” </p><p>Eddie went stock still, his nose squished up in the most adorably aching face Richie had ever seen. </p><p>“Shit,” Eddie hissed after a second. He shook his head fast, twice. Then blanched. “Shit,” he said again, then spewed vomit all over the floor by Richie’s bed. </p><p>There was a single, blinding moment of Richie trying to work through the shock, then, oh, fuck, Richie certainly knew <em>that</em> feeling, of feeling something so much that it came literally pouring out.  </p><p>Eddie rocked back up to look at him with wide, horrified eyes. Richie was still working on processing what the fuck had just happened when the stench hit him, and he felt like he was about to know <em>that</em> feeling right the fuck then. He had a notoriously weak stomach, and all the medicinal shit the doctors had him on only made it worse. </p><p>Richie could see Eddie apologizing, apologizing, apologizing, rapid-fire with a face so red it was nearly purple, but Richie’s ears were ringing. His stomach churned. </p><p><em>Please, no</em>, he begged to whatever God might be listening, if there even was one. If he blew chunks all over Eddie, he’d swear there wasn’t one. He’d swear. </p><p>Then, he blew chunks all over Eddie, heaving forward and being helpless to stop as it rained down over the knees of the most beautiful boy he’d ever met. </p><p>There was no God. </p><p>“I’m so sorry,” he groaned, then heaved again. Fuck, he’d kill Stan for bringing him that milkshake. Then, he’d kill himself for puking on Eddie. </p><p>When there was nothing left in him, he fell backwards into his bed, groaning with residual nausea and the ache in his chest and utter, absolute mortification. He couldn’t fucking look at Eddie. He’d never be able to again. He’d have to move towns. Move countries. </p><p>“I need you to understand,” Eddie whispered, his voice very extraordinarily tight. Richie wished he’d never been born. He felt the horror in every inch of his body. “That I am not upset. I am, however, about fifteen seconds away from slipping into a full-fledged panic attack.” Richie’s eyes tore up to Eddie without his permission. He was sheet white, every muscle locked in place, eyes darting, manic, around Richie’s face. He <em>looked</em> like he was about fifteen seconds away from slipping into a full-fledged panic attack. </p><p>Richie felt like he was going to vomit again. He jabbed the nurse-call button at least nine times, and Eddie’s breaths came in faster and faster spurts. </p><p>Bev burst into the room, Richie’s name already on her lips. </p><p>“Fuck,” she said, recoiling at the mess around them. Richie hadn’t had the nerve to look at it yet. </p><p>“He’s having a panic attack,” Richie told Bev, and she was at their side in an instant. Richie tried not to hear the squelch of her shoes. </p><p>“I need—I need a shower,” Eddie stammered. His hands started shaking violently, craning near his hips so fast they blurred in Richie’s sight, the cast on his arm one big streak of white. If Richie wasn’t so terrified, he might laugh. Eddie went on, his breath catching, chest heaving. “Oh my God, it’s all over me. I—I can’t, I can’t breathe. Rich,” he said, and his voice broke. Eddie’s eyes swung around to Richie, wide and terrified. “Richie, I can’t breathe.”</p><p>Bev’s voice was distant in Richie’s ears, telling Eddie he was going to be okay, telling him to count, telling him they’d get him through it. All he could hear was Eddie, his frantic, petrified pulls of air, the broken sentences. </p><p>Bev handed Eddie off to another nurse, who quickly led him from the room—presumably to get him calm and into a shower—and turned back to Richie. His own chest started to feel tight. </p><p>“Is he going to be okay?” Richie asked frantically, craning around Bev to try to catch a glimpse of Eddie. He could still hear him. Bev’s voice was insistent, her hands steady.</p><p>“He’s going to be fine. It’s a panic attack. You need to breathe.” </p><p>“Breathe?” Richie let out a broken laugh, like the edge of Eddie’s panic was still slicing into him. It kind of was. “I <em>can’t</em> breathe, Bev,” he said, Eddie’s words echoing.</p><p>“You need to. You’re going to have one, too, if you don’t. Your heart can’t take that, Rich,” she warned, her eyes very serious. Richie’s heart gave a painful lurch as though to corroborate her statement. He closed his eyes and pulled in as deep a breath as he could, in through his nose until it slammed against the wall in his chest. He shoved it back out and tried again, this time managing to haul it in further. </p><p>“Smells like actual death in here,” he commented on the exhale. Bev gave an off-kilter laugh. </p><p>“You scared me with this one, Rich,” she said, and when he opened his eyes, he could still see the worried crease between her brows. Richie hated that look. </p><p>“That’s called emetophobia,” he told her, dead-pan, squashing down whatever remaining panic clung to him with as much of an iron fist as he could manage. </p><p>“I think it would honestly be easier to just move you to a new room instead of cleaning this up,” she told him with a grin before tearing her eyes away to look down at the mess. She only sounded half-teasing. </p><p>“What are the odds you’d let me room with Eddie?” Richie asked. He didn’t know why. Eddie would probably never want to see him again after he’d thrown up all over him. But he wanted to see Eddie. And more, he wanted to make sure that Eddie would be okay. Bev considered him for a moment.</p><p>“What are the odds you won’t throw up on him again?” she asked, and Richie frowned. </p><p>“He threw up first!” he retorted, indignant. “It’s not my fault I’ve got a weak stomach.” Bev rolled her eyes, but it was fond.</p><p>“We should call you Vomitmouth instead of Trashmouth,” she said. </p><p>Richie winced. He had a feeling he would never, <em>ever</em> live this down. Maybe one day, they’d laugh about it, but he didn’t feel quite ready for that. </p><p>“Oh, sure, laugh it up, Marsh. I just vomited on Eddie fucking Kaspbrak. Do you know how big of a crush I have on him?” </p><p>“Yes,” Bev answered, without missing a beat. “And it is for that very reason and because I love you that I’ll go see how he’d feel about a new roommate.” </p><p>“You’re just going to leave me here with this?” Richie motioned, horrified, towards the frankly massive puddle of vomit he and Eddie had created. (And they say romance is dead...)</p><p>Bev rolled her eyes and shifted to the other side of the bed, the clean side. She helped him stand and helped him walk, just like they’d practiced, tugging his IV trolley alongside her. </p><p>Then, she deposited him on a bench in the hallway to rest while she hurried off towards Eddie’s room, still squelching with every step. A new nurse appeared a few moments later, toting a mop and a fucking <em>scowl</em> at Richie. He tried to look like he had no idea what the issue could be, but when the nurse ducked inside his old room, he could have sworn the words, <em>fucking haz-mat</em>, were uttered. </p><p>Bev appeared before Richie could really work himself up into what would happen if the nurse finished mopping his room before he got his transfer. </p><p>“Good news, Tozier,” she said, grinning with her hands on her hips. Richie practically melted. He deserved some good news. “Eddie was asking for you to move in before I could even suggest it.” Richie felt himself warm, then heat with humiliation all over again. Beverly seemed to see it in his face. “You’ve got this, Trashmouth,” she said warmly, offering a hand up. Richie huffed as he took it.</p><p>“Thanks for not going with Vomitmouth,” he muttered and limped his way along under Beverly’s arm. He was taller than her, but she was steady, holding half his weight and the IV roller easily until she stopped at a new door and knocked. There was no answer, and for a second, Richie was suddenly terrified that Eddie had changed his mind. Not that he would blame him in the slightest. He’d been there for what had just happened. </p><p>But then Bev was ticking her head towards the door, humming. She pushed it open.</p><p>“Sounds like he’s in the shower.”</p><p>“Poor kid needs it,” Richie muttered, dragging himself through the threshold with Bev. She led him to the empty bed in the room and set him down gingerly on it. </p><p>“I’ll go get the rest of your stuff,” she said after helping him get situated on the monitor and flicking on the TV. Richie saw with gratitude that the volume buttons actually worked. He would need a solid, sturdy distraction while he tried not to think about the humiliation he’d just endured. </p><p>It was going mostly swimmingly. Bev came back with his things, told him she’d let his parents know of the room change, and said she’d be back to check in soon. He nodded through it all, and when she was gone, he returned his focus to the TV with a laser-like intensity. It was going mostly swimmingly, really. Then, he heard the shower snap off, and his breath caught. </p><p>God, he’d been ignoring the world so hard that the shower had become a background noise. He’d almost forgotten Eddie was there. <em>Almost</em>. Richie had a few quick moments to tell himself to breathe, that it was fine, before Eddie stepped tentatively out of the bathroom. </p><p>“Hey,” Eddie breathed, and Richie’s head swung around to fully take him in. He looked scrubbed raw, red across all the pieces of flesh Richie could see. He looked embarrassed, but he didn’t look like he was panicking anymore. A breath of relief squeezed out of Richie, and he fumbled to sit up straighter in bed. </p><p>“Hey,” Richie said. </p><p>“I’m so sorry,” they both said, then laughed awkwardly. </p><p>“No, really,” Richie insisted, watching as Eddie hurriedly made his way across the room to his own bed. He paused at the halfway point, hesitated, then shoved the curtain between them so hard that it rattled open against the wall, leaving nothing to separate them but air and six feet. It was too much. Richie swallowed. “I’m so sorry,” he went on. “I’m usually not such a spaz.” </p><p>Eddie huffed out a laugh and settled on the edge of his own bed. He had a plastic bag taped around his cast, and quick fingers started unraveling the edges. </p><p>“I somehow don’t think that’s true,” Eddie teased, his eyes flicking up to Richie. Richie felt some of the anxiety in him settle. Teasing was familiar. Teasing was where he made his home. </p><p>“You think I go around vomiting on people often?” Richie asked, and Eddie shook his head. Richie barreled on. “Because you’d be right. I have an alarmingly weak stomach.” </p><p>“Sorry that I puked first, in that case. I guess I wasn’t as over that stomach flu as I thought,” Eddie said, shrugging and finally tearing free of the bag. He wadded it up and threw it in the bin by the foot of his bed. Then, he sighed. “That may very well have been the single most embarrassing moment of my life.” </p><p>“Agreed.”</p><p>“So, we never speak of it again?” Eddie asked, looking and sounding undoubtedly hopeful. Richie grinned. </p><p>“I can in no way guarantee that, Eds.” Eddie groaned flopping back on his bed, though his eyes never left Richie’s. </p><p>“Don’t call me that.”</p><p>“I can’t guarantee that either,” Richie said, grinning. His heart monitor skipped jovially, and Richie smiled at Eddie.</p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Eddie runs from the law and learns he’s not alone.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tw: more vomit talk, internalized homophobia, Sonia's homophobia, slurs, police, Sonia's manipulation.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
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    <em>August ‘93</em>
 
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</div><p>Eddie stayed sprawled on his back, listening to the angry rattle of Richie’s heart monitor for what felt like forever. He knew Richie was watching him, and he felt very glad that he himself wasn’t hooked up to a heart monitor. He thought it wouldn’t take long at all for it to betray him.</p><p>The truth was, he’d come back for Richie. To explain. </p><p>He felt like such a little prick for what had happened the last time they were together. Richie had come out to him, and Eddie’d clammed up like the fucking closet-case that he was. </p><p>Eddie…he knew that was what he was. A closet case. He didn’t necessarily want to think about exactly <em>which</em> closet he was in, and he sure as shit didn’t have it in him to say it as easily as Richie had. But he knew how his reaction must have looked to Richie. He must have looked exactly like Sonia Kaspbrak’s child: a worrier, a homophobe.</p><p>Well, Eddie was exactly one of those things, and it wasn’t the one he knew his mother would be most pleased with. He’d worried about the whole Richie Situation so much, in fact, that he’d found himself hunched over the toilet bowl, spewing up his mother’s gluten-free, dairy-free, everything-delicious-free lasagna. </p><p>She’d been on him in an instant, tugging, petting, fussing. She brought up horrific diseases that had vomiting as symptoms, all of which he tried—and failed—not to let worm their way into his brain. He wasn’t 100% convinced that he’d <em>ever</em> had a stomach flu, but that night, he <em>had</em> spiked a fever, so it was possible. And to add insult to injury, he'd had a fever-dream about the amalgam of his mother's disease-worries: a leper with a clubbed foot, asking if Eddie wanted a blowjob. He'd woken up in a full panic and barely made it to the bathroom before being sick again. </p><p>When his mother suggested the hospital, his knee-jerk reaction had been to groan a, <em>Ma, no</em>. Then, Richie flashed into his mind. Beautiful, laughing Richie, and he didn’t even try to blame the fever for how warm the thought made him. He’d relented much quicker than usual. </p><p>Plus, he thought he could probably use the fluids from the hospital anyway. </p><p>And then, just as he'd been getting ready to say the words out loud for the very first time, <em>I’m probably gay but definitely queer</em>…he’d fucking lost his shit all over Richie’s floor. Then, Richie had lost his on Eddie’s knees. </p><p>It was like his anxiety dreams come to life, live in vivid fucking techni-odor. Then, as if the day could not have gotten any worse, he’d thought a moment too long about being covered in vomit and had locked up in a—relatively mild, considering the circumstances—panic attack. </p><p>Eddie, laying in the bed across from Richie's, was, needless to say, embarrassed by the whole affair. It was a whole new Richie Situation. And Richie, still stealing glances at him from across the room, looked like he’d been through the mortification ringer, too. His cheeks were still a little scarlet under the rims of his glasses, and he was chewing the bed of his nails. </p><p>“Do you know how many germs live under your finger nails, Richie?” Eddie nagged. Nagging was comfortable for him, too. Made him feel safer, in some convoluted way. Richie just tossed him that gummy grin and folded his hands in his lap. </p><p>Eddie wasn’t upset that Richie had thrown up on him. He really wasn’t. (That should have been his sign that Richie fucking Tozier would wreck his world.) All he could do was stare up at the ceiling, or over at Richie, and think about how he was so incredibly lucky to have gotten the chance to see Richie again. </p><p>“Hey, Richie,” Eddie asked after a while. Richie was watching TV, or rather, flicking through the channels so quickly that Eddie had no idea what was flying by. Richie paused in his search to glance over at him. “I want to apologize,” he said after a moment. He forced himself up on his elbows, forced himself to lock eyes with Richie, even though he kind of felt like melting into the floor again. Richie’s mouth ticked up in the corners.</p><p>“Thought we were never speaking of it again,” he said, and Eddie grimaced, shook his head.</p><p>“No, not that. I wanted to apologize for…for well, being an asshole when you said you were…” Eddie couldn’t even say it. That’s how much of a goddamn closet-case he was. But at least he could admit he was a closet-case now. Richie’s smile grew tight.</p><p>“It’s okay, Eds. I get it. I’ve gotten much worse, believe me.” </p><p>Eddie flinched at the mere thought of Richie getting <em>much worse</em>. He didn’t know if it was because he didn’t want that for Richie or he didn’t want that for himself. Both, probably.</p><p>“No. I…I just want you to know that I’m—” The word choked in his throat. He closed his eyes, tried again with something easier. “I’m not a homophobe, Rich. Really. <em>Really</em>, I’m not.” Eddie opened his eyes and stared over at Richie, trying to make him understand, to see, without Eddie having to say it. Richie’s mouth quirked, and the weight hammering down on Eddie’s chest loosened a little.</p><p>“Well, technically," Richie said. "You’d be biphobic. Which, I’d say you are by not even acknowledging that it’s biphobia instead homophobia.” Eddie’s lips curled up.</p><p>“Sorry. I’m not biphobic either.”</p><p>Richie smiled. </p><p>“Good.” </p><p>Eddie knew there’d be hell to pay in the morning, his mother coming in to see Richie as his roommate—again—but he couldn’t find it in him to feel anything other than glad. Still a little residually mortified, but you know. Such is life. </p><p>He fell asleep a long time later and, after bickering and laughing with Richie, slept better than he had in a long, long time. </p><p>The next morning, he was right. There <em>was</em> hell to pay from Sonia, but he took it all with a high chin and blank eyes. When she told him that it was time to go, her face set into that sharp pinch, he dutifully changed back into his polo and fanny pack but set a soft hand on Richie’s shin while his mother stood in the doorway. </p><p>Richie blinked awake and stared up at him groggily. </p><p>“Eds?” he asked, then stretched for the glasses resting on his bedside table. </p><p>“<em>Eddie,</em>” his mother hissed from behind him. He didn't look, but he knew that her face would be red and angry. Eddie smiled down at Richie.</p><p>“I’ve gotta go, Rich,” he murmured, pulling his hand back and wiping his palm on the back of his thigh. </p><p>“So soon, Spaghetti?” Richie asked, a dopey smile on his lips. He looked good. Healthy. Eddie smiled again. </p><p>“I’ll see you around, okay?” Eddie said, pitching his voice low so that only Richie would hear. His dopey smile went soft, and he hummed, his head lolling. Eddie was just about to turn away when Richie’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. </p><p>“I was having the strangest dream about you, Mr. Spaghetti,” Richie said. It was obvious his pain meds were running full swing. </p><p>“Oh, yeah?” Eddie asked, feeling too soft towards the beautiful boy clutching his wrist to berate him for the ridiculous nickname. Richie hummed again, and his hand fell slack against the bed sheets. </p><p>“Edward,” his mother hissed. Eddie knew if he turned around, she would have moved past red and angry and into full-on constipated. “<em>Now</em>.” </p><p>Eddie sighed.</p><p>“Bye, Richie.” </p><p>Sonia’s hand around his bicep as they left was sharp and biting. She all but threw him into her car, which Eddie found an odd sort of humor in, considering how adamantly opposed she was to anything that could hurt him. </p><p>“I warned you about that boy, Eddie,” she spat, tearing the car out of the hospital parking lot, hardly looking before peeling into what little traffic there was. Eddie’s good hand flew up to grip the roof handle. Sonia was talking a mile a minute. Eddie never had to wonder where he got that from. “He’s bad for you. <em>Dirty</em>. Boys like him will ruin you!” </p><p>Eddie just stared straight ahead. <em>He already has</em>, he thought, some giddy mix of passive and terrified. Eddie was already planning the next time he’d see Richie, aggressively tuning out the full stream of his mother’s hate speech, thinking about picking up some ridiculously sugary coffee he felt sure Richie would adore on his way back to the hospital. He smiled at the thought. </p><p>“Are you even <em>listening</em>, Eddie?” Sonia wailed, piercing through his imaginative bubble as she slid up to the curb at their house and slung the car into park. </p><p>He wasn't sure exactly <em>when</em>, but he knew that, at some point in their drive home, he'd hit his absolute max of shit he could take at the moment, even as committed as he was to blocking her out. He felt like a propane tank, screaming full with his mother's ambient hatred and threatening to explode out everywhere if he didn't get the fuck away from the gas right then. </p><p>She continued her tirade all the way up the front steps of their house, through the hall, up the stairs. Eddie shut his bedroom door between them firmly and locked it, even as she was still speaking from the other side. </p><p>He packed a bag quickly and took a breath.</p><p>“Edward Kaspbrak!” she shouted when he finally unlocked the door and opened it. She was red in the face. Her hand shot out, much like Richie’s had earlier, but instead of holding his wrist gently, she pinched her fingers into the hollows of his cheeks, cupping his chin. She tugged his face around, and her eyes were wild. Eddie struggled to break free. “What has gotten into you? Locking the door on your mother! Do you understand all that I do for you? To protect you?!”</p><p>“Protect me?” Eddie echoed, his bag heavy on his shoulders. “Protect me from what?” </p><p>“From the <em>world</em>, Eddie-bear!” she wailed, pulling his face forward with every sharply enunciated word. His blood ran hot for the first time since she’d started this whole spiel. Eddie was very good at tuning her out, and when he failed, normally, he just felt her words like cement bricks on his lungs. Now, they were sparks, and he was a dry valley. He was pissed. Eddie snatched away from her. </p><p>“You don’t need to protect me from the world, Mom!” he shouted. “The world is not inherently evil. <em>People</em> are not inherently evil, not inherently dirty or dangerous or whatever it is you’ve deluded yourself into believing.” He thought of Richie. Richie was kind of everything terrifying to Eddie. He was also someone Eddie felt braver just from knowing. He held onto that feeling, and Sonia's face morphed like she knew exactly what he was thinking about. Maybe she did. </p><p>“I do not want you speaking to him again,” she said, her voice flat, unwavering. </p><p>“You don’t even know him,” he spat. </p><p>“I know what people say about him. I know what I saw with my own eyes, Eddie. That boy is queer.” Eddie flinched. He felt it through his whole body, the hate behind the word, the horror. Richie’s words splayed out in his mind.</p><p><em>I don’t think love is ever wrong, Eddie</em>, he’d murmured, looking so soft, even in the harsh fluorescents of the hospital. </p><p>“I’m going to go stay with Stan for a few days,” Eddie said. His voice was quiet, but firm. His mother blinked at him, open-mouthed. </p><p>“What? No, you’re not.”</p><p>Eddie nodded.</p><p>“I can’t be around you when you’re like this, Mom.” That Richie-induced bravery pulsed through him. It seemed to fill him. He was a propane tank again, but instead of feeling like everything was expanding and screaming out, the thought of Richie made him stand straighter. He went on, “You’re so full of hate that it makes me sick.” </p><p>“You feel sick?” Her eyes flashed. Eddie shook his head, his eyes clenching shut.</p><p>“You’re not hearing me. You never hear me.” He pushed past her, trotting down the stairs with his backpack slamming into his spine. It felt like freedom. He saw the front door swim into view.</p><p>“Don’t you walk out of that door, Edward!” His mother’s voice shattered down the stairs after Eddie. He didn’t fucking care. “<em>Edddddiiiieeeeeee</em>,” and Eddie slammed the door. </p><p>He was on his bike in a flash, pumping his legs, doing his best to steer with his one good arm, laughing like a lunatic. </p><p>The police picked him up before he made it even halfway to Stan’s house. </p><p>The officer frowned at him through the rearview once he’d gotten Eddie in the back. </p><p>“I’m sorry, kid. I know your mom can be…” His voice trailed off. Eddie scoffed, feeling anger prickle in his eyes. The officer cleared his throat. “I know it’s tough, but you can’t just bail.” </p><p>“Thanks,” Eddie spat. They’d had to leave his bike on the curb. Someone would probably steal it. God, his mother would be thrilled about that. He’d really be trapped then.</p><p>She was waiting on the steps when the police cruiser pulled up. </p><p>“Eddie-bear,” she cried, surging towards him with her arms stretched wide and tear tracks smearing down her face. He ducked her grip.</p><p>“You’re fucking unbelievable,” he spat at her and went inside, hot tears stinging his eyes. He took the stairs up two at a time, his backpack slamming against his spine. It didn’t feel like freedom anymore. It felt like a death-sentence. </p><p>For the second time in an hour, he locked his bedroom door when he made it inside, then fell onto his bed with his jaw clenched. He refused to cry. </p><p>His mother came up after presumably thanking the valiant police officer profusely for bringing her fragile, endangered son home safely. She knocked at the door, and when he didn’t answer, she hummed, content.</p><p>“That’s fine, Eddie-bear. You just stay put and rest.” Then, he heard her lumbering footsteps plod back down the stairs. He threw a pillow at the door with a half-buried scream. </p><p>He stayed there, locked in his room, angry for a long time. His thoughts swirled. </p><p>He thought of Richie. </p><p>Then, an idea began to swirl among the thoughts of injustice and being trapped. </p><p>“Room 186, please,” he mumbled into the phone once the nurse’s desk picked up, praying his mom wasn’t listening on the other extension. Richie let the line ring for so long that Eddie began to second-guess his brilliant act of defiance. Richie was probably asleep. Or, like, doing physical therapy. Or he couldn’t make it to the phone all the way across the room after having literal open-heart surgery. God, what was he doing, he was so stupid. </p><p>Eddie was just about to hang up when Richie’s voice croaked through. </p><p>“Dickie Tozier’s room, how’s it hangin’,” he said. sounding far less out-of-it than he had when Eddie had left that morning. It made his heart skitter. </p><p>“Richie?” Eddie asked softly. </p><p>“Eds?” And then Eddie was crying, hot gasping breaths, hands shaking. “Whoa, whoa, Eddie Spaghetti,” Richie crooned, sounding equally panicked and placating. “Why the tears?” He sounded like he was cradling the phone, and the thought made him cry harder, Richie standing there in that dumb hospital gown, knee jiggling, holding Eddie’s voice as though it were a safeguard. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” Eddie gasped. “I’m sorry, this is stupid. I shouldn’t have called you.” Eddie was about to hang up again, but again, Richie’s voice halted him.</p><p>“No,” he murmured against Eddie’s ear. Eddie ached. “No, I’m glad you called.” There was silence, and Eddie tried to catch his breath, quell the tears. “Is everything okay?” </p><p>“I…I tried to run away,” Eddie said, rubbing at his forehead. </p><p>“Eds,” Richie breathed, and Eddie let out a wet laugh. </p><p>“She was, fuck. I can’t stand this, Richie.” Eddie felt the tug in his chest. “She had the police pick me up on the way to Stan’s. Fucking humiliating.” Eddie scoffed, swiping a hand down his face. “I’ll be lucky to see sunlight again.” </p><p>“Eddie,” Richie murmured, sympathetic and soft and so goddamn tender that Eddie’s stomach took a dive.</p><p> He wanted to bury himself in the soft spot of skin at Richie’s neck, and as soon as the urge hit him, he braced for the shame. But it didn’t come. Just that feeling, wishing he was there with Richie, holding him, being held by him. It was tearing through him. He felt it like a wound, a sob wracking out of him. Richie’s voice through the phone was a salve as much as it was magnifying the ache. </p><p> He went on, “You want me to bust you out? I swear to fuck, I will. I’ll fuckin’ scale a wall, karate-punch your mom, carry you out in my arms like fuckin’ Fabio.” Eddie could see it in his mind, Richie Kool-Aid-manning through the door, screaming, <em>Oh, yeah,</em> and he laughed wetly. Actually laughed. Fuck, he was in it. </p><p>“Richie, you’re in the hospital literally as we speak,” he reminded, still smiling. </p><p>“I’ll bust me out too, the fuck. Say the word, baby, and I’m there.” Richie sounded so earnest, completely sincere in a way that Eddie had never experienced before. Eddie’s stomach clenched. And don’t believe for a second that he missed Richie calling him <em>baby</em>. </p><p>“Thanks for picking up, Rich,” Eddie murmured. He felt lighter than he had since the last time he’d spoken to Richie. He was glad Richie Tozier had Kool-Aid-manned into his life. </p><p>“Anything for you, Spagheds,” Richie answered, in that entirely genuine way of his. It was too much. </p><p>“Don’t call me that.” </p><p>“Don’t be a stranger.” Richie was silent for a moment. Eddie clung to the phone, feeling stupid and also unashamedly not wanting to hang up first. “I mean it, Eddie,” Richie said after a moment. “We’re friends now. You can come to me anytime, you know that?” </p><p>“Trashmouth being genuine?” Eddie quipped, because his stomach was doings summersaults, and he couldn’t really take it. Richie huffed. </p><p>“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. The Trashmouth’s got a heart too, dickwad.” Eddie could just picture the smile gracing Richie’s lips. It would be a soft thing, barely the edges curling up. Eddie was so, so in it. </p><p>“Bye, Richie,” Eddie whispered. </p><p>“Goodbye, Eddie,” Richie whispered back, and Eddie hung up. </p><p>Eddie stayed in his room all night, staring up at the ceiling. The phone rang a couple times, but Richie didn’t know his number, so frankly, he didn’t care to pick up. He could hear his mother at the extension downstairs, her voice muffled as she spoke. Eddie ignored it. </p><p>His stomach growled, and he ignored that, too, even when his mother came to the door at dinnertime saying she had a plate ready. Fuck her, he’d hunger-strike his way out the house if he had to. Stop eating. Leave his room strictly for bathroom breaks and ice chips. </p><p>That lasted about two hours after he heard his mother huff her way out of the recliner and down the hall to her bedroom. Then, Eddie’s stomach let out a particularly heinous grumble, and he caved. </p><p>The dinner she’d left for him tasted like ash in his mouth. Literally, worse than normal, to the point that he half-wondered if she was trying to poison him for his attempted jail-break. Like she was trying to make his life hell for even <em>thinking</em> that he deserved better.</p><p>As Eddie stood in the kitchen, choking down steamed vegetable mush by the light of the open refrigerator door, Eddie had a thought. </p><p>She would make his life hell…or not. Eddie suddenly remembered Bev trying to kick his mother out of the hospital room, how Sonia had melted like butter when Eddie had played the game. She would make his life hell for how he acted, or she might, hope upon hope, loosen the reigns if he could convince her that he didn’t <em>want</em> to go anywhere else. </p><p>Eddie scraped the remaining leftovers into the trash out of spite before tying off the bag. Sonia Kaspbrak was not above digging through the garbage to make sure Eddie had finished his veggie mush, and Eddie Kaspbrak was not above nefarious means to ensure that she saw only what he wanted. He’d learned the art of manipulation straight from her book, the shithead in him was alive and well, and the shithead in him was <em>going</em> to see Richie. Like it or not, Sonia. </p><p>He scrambled back up the stairs and fell asleep thinking about his Plan. </p><p>It commenced precisely at 6:30 the next morning. Eddie couldn’t possibly be going against her wishes if he brought his mommy breakfast in bed, right? She practically melted when he nosed into her room, the small dinner tray loaded with eggs done just the way she liked, bland as fuck toast, blacker-than-black coffee, and a daisy from the flowerbed outside wilting in a vase, to top it off. </p><p>“Good morning, Mommy,” he said, batting his eyelashes. </p><p>“Eddie-bear,” she laughed, her eyes wide even in her half-sleep state. “What’s all this?” Eddie brought the tray around, set it on her lap, then sat at her knees. </p><p>“It’s an apology,” he said, averting his eyes like he held some real penitence. </p><p>Boy, did Eddie apologize. He laid it on thick, crying and whimpering and clutching her hand. She let him go at it, too, looking more and more smug as tear after tear fell from him. By the end, Eddie was out of breath, feeling equal-parts pissed off that he had to do it like this and guilty for treating her the way she treated him. </p><p>He left her room with a sour hole in his gut but with an agreement that he could go pick up his bike—assuming it was still there—and spend the day with Bill and Stan, as long as he was back before dark. It was more than he expected, and he was out of the door before she finished her toast. </p><p>The concrete under his feet pushed the early August heat back up against his skin, but Eddie didn’t care. The sun was bright. He thought of Richie. </p><p>When he made it to the corner the police had picked him up on the day before, he could have cried at the sight of his bike still lying there. Eddie raced to it and hauled it up, swinging his legs over. He was down the block in a breath, one exactly right gust of wind away from bursting into song. </p><p>Stan was sitting with two bikes by the massive—and creepy—Paul Bunyan statue when Eddie finally found him. He’d already biked to both Stan and Bill’s houses, where Stan’s dad said he was at Bill’s and Bill’s mom said he was at Stan’s. Eddie pulled to a stop next to the statue with a huff.</p><p>“You alright?” Stan asked, his brow creasing as Eddie let his bike fall and collapsed next to him on the bench. Eddie, still a little short of breath, nodded.</p><p>“Been biking around,” he huffed. </p><p>“I tried calling you last night,” Stan said. “Your mom told me you weren’t feeling like yourself.” Eddie scoffed. </p><p>“That sounds about right,” he mumbled. Stan cocked an eyebrow, then hummed in understanding when Eddie said, “It’s nothing. Just Sonia being Sonia.” </p><p>“Well, I was thinking about a movie night this weekend. What do you think?” Stan turned hopefully to Eddie. </p><p>“Oh. Well, I…” he started, feeling himself redden. Eddie had already been planning the best route back to Bangor. Back to Richie. He <em>really</em> wanted Richie to try the sugary-sweet coffee concoction Eddie had been thinking up. Stan rolled his eyes, like he knew. </p><p>“Richie’s coming,” he said, like, well, like he knew. Eddie’s stomach rolled, both at the thought of Stanley <em>knowing</em> and at the thought of spending time with Richie not in the washed-out white of the hospital but in the warm lamplight of Stan’s living room. “Christ,” Stan huffed. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” Eddie offered, because that’s what you say when you disappoint someone with the very essence of who you are. </p><p>“No, it’s just…you really like him, don’t you?” He sounded annoyed, but when Eddie managed a horrified glance up to his face, he saw a ring of fondness lining the edges of his lips. Eddie’s heart slammed, but his knuckles went a little less white where he was clutching the bench seat.</p><p>“Yeah,” Eddie whispered. He knew how crazy it sounded. He’d only known Richie for a few days, but there was something about him. It was like something had come alive in Eddie he hadn’t known was even possible. He knew it sounded crazy, but he knew it felt crazy, too, in the best, most gut-wrenching way. </p><p>“H-h-hey, Eddie,” Bill said, walking into view over Stan’s shoulder, making them both jump. Bill carried two ice cream cones and offered one to Stan. “Sorry. I didn’t know y-y-you were coming or else I’d have gotten you one, too.” </p><p>“It’s okay,” Eddie said, scooting down the bench so Bill could sit beside Stanley. He didn’t know why he did it, except that Bill always sat by Stanley. Eddie took them in with his eyes narrowed, gears grinding in his mind. He’d never thought Stanley and Bill were…together. But maybe he’d just been afraid to see in them what he knew was hiding in himself. Stan’s cheeks dusted red at Eddie’s inspection, and he shook his head the smallest bit. </p><p>It was confirmation enough for Eddie. </p><p>A weight like a ten-ton boulder lifted off Eddie. He wasn’t alone. He had Richie, and he had Stan, and he had Bill. Stan and Bill had each other. <em>And</em> Eddie. </p><p>Eddie realized very abruptly that he’d probably been third-wheeling for a long time without even knowing it. He scrambled to his feet.</p><p>“Sorry!” he said, a little too-loudly for their trio. Stan flinched, and Eddie felt himself redden all over again. “Sorry,” he said, quieter. “You guys probably have plans. I’ll just…er…” </p><p>“It’s fine, Eddie. S-S-S-Stan and I were going to go swimming, if you want to c-c-come?” Bill smiled that smile, and Eddie <em>got</em> it. He knew why Stan liked him. Eddie only wondered why he himself had never liked Bill first. Apparently, Eddie was only interested in curly-headed doofuses with loud mouths. He wanted to grin and groan just thinking about it. </p><p>“That’s alright,” Eddie said, shaking his head and pulling his bike back upright. Stan looked red as a tomato. “You guys enjoy yourselves, you know?” </p><p>Eddie didn’t want to say too much, never sure when violent homophobes were hiding behind Paul Bunyan, but he hoped it was enough to tell his friends he was happy for them. Eddie gave them one last smile and readied to push off. Then, Stan stopped him. </p><p>“Can I talk to you, Eddie?” he asked, his voice very tight. Eddie frowned, glancing back at Bill and seeing that same perplexed look on his face. Eddie swung off his bike tentatively and followed Stan away from the bench they’d been sitting on. </p><p>“Everything okay?” Stan’s hand was clenched so tightly around his ice cream cone that Eddie thought he might crush it. He cringed just from the thought.</p><p>“What the <em>fuck</em> was that?” Stan hissed, his voice low. Eddie reeled.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“You know what! You basically just fled back there.” </p><p>“I just wanted you guys to be able to spend some alone time together,” Eddie said, his brow furrowing. A distinct crack filled the air, and Eddie saw that Stan had compromised his cone. Rapidly-melting ice cream oozed out of the cracks.</p><p>“Yeah, no shit! You could have been a little more subtle!” </p><p>“There was no one around, Stan,” he said, still staring at the ice cream slowly drenching Stan’s hand. He fumbled open the zipper on his fanny pack, searching for a wet wipe. </p><p>“<em>Bill</em> was around,” Stan hissed, swatting Eddie’s hand away from the wet-wipe pack. Eddie paused, cocking his head and staring back up at Stan’s face. </p><p>“What do you mean?” he asked, furrowing his brow. Stan groaned, his whole body rolling as he rolled his eyes.</p><p>“Bill doesn’t <em>know</em> that I like boys, dipshit,” Stan said. He stared at Eddie seriously for a moment, then dropped his eyes to the cone. It was beyond repair. He tossed it in the trash and shook the drip into the grass. “He doesn’t know that I like <em>him</em>,” Stan said softly, his eyes down. Eddie’s mouth opened. </p><p>Oh. <em>Oh.</em></p><p>“Fuck, Stan,” Eddie breathed. He recommenced his wet wipe search and dragged one out. Stan took it, looking forlorn. “I’m really sorry. I just…the way you two are together. I just assumed you were already together.” Stan rolled his eyes again, but it didn’t distract Eddie from the fresh blush creeping up his neck. </p><p>“Bill’s not gay,” he said. It was so matter-of-fact that Eddie had to bite back a laugh. Eddie would have sworn the exact same thing about himself before meeting Richie Tozier. </p><p>“You’re sure?” Eddie asked, glancing around Stan at Bill. “Because he’s back there staring at you like you’re holding his long-lost puppy.” Stan stiffened. “Or maybe you’re the long-lost puppy. Either way.” </p><p>“Don’t bullshit me, Eddie,” Stan warned, sloughing off the last of the ice cream and tossing the wipe in the garbage. “You’ve already cost me an ice cream cone. Don’t cost me my sanity, too.” </p><p>Eddie pressed his lips together. He wanted to reassure Stan that there was no way Bill didn’t like him back, but he’d only just realized there was something <em>to</em> like back about a minute and a half earlier, so he didn’t feel like he was the most qualified. He didn’t want to set Stan up for failure. </p><p>“Do you want me to come with you guys? Swimming, I mean,” Eddie offered. He watched Stan’s face take a brief emotional roller-coaster: hopeful, horrified, landing on a grimace. “I won’t, if you don’t want me to, whatever you need,” he offered, holding his palms up. The sunlight on his cast was bright and painful even in the corner of his vision. He dropped his arms. </p><p>Stan considered Eddie with that scared grimace on his face for a long while, then groaned. He ran his hands up through his hair. Eddie was glad he’d had wet wipes on him. </p><p>“I need for this whole situation to be a non-issue,” Stan said, knocking his elbows together once his fingers were laced behind his neck. Eddie huffed. He knew the feeling. Stan went on, “But I would like for you to come. I’m…I’m going to tell him.” He looked like he was trying to convince himself more than Eddie, doubly so when he nodded firmly. “Yeah. I’m going to tell him today. Tell him that I like him.” </p><p>“And you want <em>me</em> there for that?” Eddie asked, wide-eyed. Stan cut him a glare.</p><p>“If it all goes sour, it’s one-hundred percent your fault,” he said sharply, then turned on his heel, marching back towards Bill and their bikes. </p><p>“Wait, what?!” Eddie hissed. He stumbled after Stan, horror racing around in him.</p><p>“If it goes well, it was all me,” Stan said. He glanced at Eddie over his shoulder, still striding forward, and grinned. </p><p>Eddie’s panic eased. He understood needing someone to be there through the fear. Eddie could do that. Eddie had Stan, and Stan had Eddie. </p><p>By the time they made it to the water, Stan and Bill, because they’d <em>known</em> they were going swimming, were standing at the top of the quarry cliff in their swim trunks. </p><p>Eddie, because he had <em>not known</em> he was going swimming, was standing next to them feeling very under-dressed in his <em>Wednesday</em> labeled boxer-briefs and a plastic grocery bag duct-taped around his cast. He took some small solace in the fact that it actually was Wednesday. </p><p>“W-w-who’s first?” Bill asked, glancing back and forth between Stan and Eddie with an anticipatory smile. Eddie knew the rules. Loogie with the most mass got to pick who jumped first. </p><p>Stan rolled his eyes and took a running leap at the edge. As he fell, Eddie took note of Bill’s awed face and decided that Stan was more than just a pretty face. </p><p>“Rock-paper-scissors for next jump?” Eddie offered once Stan resurfaced and waved. Bill snorted and pushed his hand away.</p><p>“No. I’ve g-g-got a rep to protect,” he said, then leapt off. Eddie smiled as Bill fell, seeing the same awed expression roll through Stan before Bill crashed into the water beside him. </p><p>Eddie took the jump, and as the rock-hard water rushed towards him, he thought how fucking stupid they were to have been making that jump as thirteen-year-olds. How fucking stupid they were to be making that jump now. Then, he broke through the surface and kicked his way to the top, laughing.</p><p>He loved the jump. It was terrifying and heart-stopping, and rarely did he feel freer than when he was in an actual free-fall. Stan and Bill both looked like they were hungry for the whole world. Eddie knew they understood. </p><p>They swam around for a long time, splashing, laughing. When they finally dragged themselves out of the water and to the rocks by the shore, the sun had turned the world a glorious golden. The slab of stone Eddie stretched out on was warm and beautiful, and he let his eyes fall closed. Bill and Stan sat on a nearby rock, talking quietly. </p><p>Eddie could hear them if he tried, but he didn’t. He just let his eyes fall closed, and when they drifted open a little while later, he saw Bill reach out and rest his hand on Stan’s. Eddie smiled, let his eyes fall back closed.</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Richie’s tambourine-playing lands him back in the hospital.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tw: slurs, blood, medical procedure</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
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    <em>August ‘93</em>
 
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</div><em>Fuuuuuuuucccccckkkkk,</em> Richie was bored.<p>Richie didn’t remember ever being this fucking bored during recovery days. </p><p>Then again, he’d never known what he was missing in the days before Eddie was his roommate. </p><p>Three days to movie night. Three painfully boring days. Richie counted down the minutes.</p><p>He spent a lot of nervous/anxious/terrified/enthralled time imagining seeing him again at Stan’s. Stan called Wednesday night to let him know Eddie was coming, but after three excruciatingly boring and occasionally literally excruciating days, Bev <em>finally</em> came around with release forms for Richie’s parents to sign, and they loaded him up and took him home. He could walk mostly fine, but his dad helped him up the stairs to his room, and once at the top, he crashed almost immediately into his bed with a groan and a smile. </p><p>There was nothing like his room after a long stay in the hospital. It always smelled a little funky, and his posters were always a little askew, but God, he loved his bed. </p><p>Once his head hit the pillow, he was asleep in seconds, shoes on and all. </p><p>He woke up some time later to his father dropping off his pain pills and gently tugging off Richie’s shoes. </p><p>“Just rest, Rich,” he said softly, so Richie swallowed his pills and fell back asleep. He dreamed of Eddie. </p><p>Stan showed up bright and early the next morning, movie day morning, which was more than fine by Richie. Once he’d slept off the meds, he’d been <em>up</em>. All he could think about was seeing Eddie later. He had been practically vibrating in his room since before dawn, plucking idle melodies on his guitar to quiet his hands, flicking repeatedly through the comics he'd read a dozen times already. Thinking of Eddie. Two nights of sharing a hospital room with him, and Richie was absolutely smitten. </p><p>Stanley finally showing up was a welcome reprieve. He appeared in Richie’s doorway with a knowing smirk, and Richie rolled out of bed exactly the way his physical therapist had shown him, if a little overeager. </p><p>“He’s still coming, right?” Richie asked, before even hello. Stan rolled his eyes. </p><p>“Yes, Richard, now, come on, would you? We need to pick up some snacks.”</p><p> Richie grinned, his vibration now turned up tenfold. He was seeing Eddie. He waddled over to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, didn’t brush his hair, changed the bandage over his chest—ewwing only a second at the itchy prod of his stitches—then returned to his room. He dressed quickly, his favorite jeans and wild flannel, shoving his feet into his boots and batting his eyes for Stan to tie them for him. Stan rolled his eyes but bent to lace them, duteously ignoring Richie talking a mile a minute. Once he was laced up, Stan helped him ease down the stairs. </p><p>His mother appeared in the kitchen doorway almost as soon as they cleared the bottom step. </p><p>Fuck, Richie had forgotten she’d taken off work that weekend. </p><p>“Where are you boys off to?” she asked, her brows pulling together with concern as she clutched her coffee cup. </p><p>“Movie day at Staniel’s,” Richie said, grinning at her.</p><p>“Richie,” she started, in That Tone. Richie closed his eyes, his arm still slung around Stan’s shoulder.</p><p>“Mom, please,” he murmured. Stan pumped his wrist, then ducked out from under Richie’s shoulder.</p><p>“I’ll wait outside,” he said, then made his way quickly out of the door. </p><p>“Rich, you need to rest,” his mom said, chewing her lip. </p><p>“I’ve been resting for a week. I feel fine.” It was mostly true. He hadn’t taken his pain meds since his dad had brought them the day before—they made him sleepy—but it wasn’t too bad. He’d pop a couple Aspirin when he got to Stan’s, and he’d be fine. </p><p>“Richie,” she said again, soft. </p><p>“We’ve talked about this, Mom,” Richie said, shifting his weight. It had been a while since he’d stood up for so long. It was more difficult than he remembered. “I don’t want to miss out on life.” </p><p>“I don’t want you to either, Rich. I just…” She trailed off, but her knuckles were white around her mug. Richie knew. </p><p>“You just want me around longer,” he finished for her. Her eyes went misty, and she looked away. When she looked back, they were clear again. His mother had gotten very good at hiding her pain. He knew, objectively, that the idea of him dying early was painful beyond words for her, but there was nothing they could do about it, not for a lack of trying, and it was easier to ignore the guilt when she didn’t let it show. </p><p>“Do you <em>swear</em> it’s just movies? No rough-housing? No bike-riding? Nothing stressful?” Her eyes bored into Richie, and he swallowed.</p><p>“I swear,” he answered. The first two stipulations, for sure. The last, well. His heart was already racing just thinking about seeing Eddie. But it was a good stress. Hardly counted as a lie. </p><p>She contemplated him a moment, then sighed. </p><p>“Fine,” she relented, and Richie grinned at her. Her face softened at the sight, then went stony again. “Did you take your meds?” </p><p>“Ma,” he groaned, shifting his weight again. He really hoped he didn’t pass out from standing up so long. That would probably work against him in convincing her that he was fine. </p><p>“<em>Did you</em>?” she asked again, firmer this time.</p><p>“I took everything but the pain meds,” he told her. </p><p>“Richard,” she said warningly. </p><p>“They make me sleepy! We’ll be ten minutes into <em>Empire Strikes Back</em>, and I’ll be snoring.” </p><p>“Take them with you, at least,” she told him, and there was zero room for argument. He huffed. </p><p>“They’re in my room,” he told her, and she set her coffee cup down on the counter. </p><p>“I’ll get them,” she said, already headed for the stairs. Richie slumped down into one of the dining room chairs as soon as she was out of sight, his head spinning a little. He listened to her move above him as he tried to steady the world. When she came back down, she held out the pill bottle to him. “You’ll be back before dinner?” she asked, but her eyes told him it wasn’t a question either. </p><p>“Sure, Ma,” he answered, taking them from her and accepting her help up out of the chair. If he held onto her a little longer than normal when he was righted, just trying to get his sea-legs again, she didn’t mention it. He was grateful for that. </p><p>“I love you, Richie,” she called as he pulled open the door. He smiled back at her. </p><p>“Love you, too.” Then, he was walking towards Stanley, snapping his pill bottle against his leg like a tambourine. Stan rolled his eyes and opened Richie’s door before helping him in. Richie hated being catered to, so he made the only reasonable move and tried to make Stan as uncomfortable about it as Richie was. </p><p>“Why, ever so thank you, my sweet suitor,” Richie preened in the Southern belle voice, pressing his hand over his heart, ignoring the way it made his stitches itch. Stan huffed and slammed the door in Richie’s face, making him cackle. </p><p>“You know I hate the Southern belle,” Stan said, reappearing on his own side of the car and sliding in. </p><p>“Why do you think I do it so much, Staniel?” Richie asked, grinning at his best friend. </p><p>“Because you hate me and want to see me suffer?” Stan replied dryly.</p><p>“Hardly at all, my dear fellow!” Richie answered in British guy. Stan groaned as he pulled out of Richie’s driveway. </p><p>They drove through town with the windows down and music just loud enough to hear over the wind. It was nice, Richie thought, sunshine pouring down over his skin. It had been a while since he’d been out in the sunshine. He missed the quarry. </p><p>They pulled to a stop in front of Keene’s, and Stan hopped out, the motor still running and music still humming underneath. </p><p>“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Stan told him, then dipped inside to rack up on various tooth-rotting substances and popcorn. Richie sat there in the car with his eyes closed, reveling in the sunshine, tambourine-ing idly with his pill bottle, thinking about Eddie. A shadow moved over the sun, and when a voice interrupted his thoughts, it was hardly the rapid lilt of Eddie’s he’d been day-dreaming about. </p><p>“Those for me, fuckface?” The voice crowed, and Richie opened his eyes to see Henry Bowers looming in his sunlight, grinning wolfishly at the pill bottle in Richie’s hand. Dread burst through Richie, and he wanted to scramble away, but he was trapped in the car. </p><p>Bowers ducked his upper half through the still-open window and grabbed for the pills, just as Richie shifted them away on instinct. They grappled for bottle for a moment, Richie doing all he could to bat Bowers away. He was torn between trying to shift as far from Bowers as possible and leaning closer to crank the window closed. Richie landed somewhere in the middle, knocking Bowers and stretching as far as he could for the window knob. </p><p>Then, a sharp elbow slammed squarely into the center of his chest. </p><p>Richie gasped in pain, his grip failing, and Bowers straightened from the car, holding the bottle of Richie’s pain pills up into the light and grinning like a lunatic. Richie barely saw the malicious look, curled forward on himself, struggling even to breathe. Pain bolted through him, white hot and stretching out in every direction. For a second, there was the horrifying thought Bowers might have knocked the new stent loose, wrenched open the wires stringing together his sternum. Then, he felt his heart pounding, agonizingly, but surely. </p><p>“Damn, Tozier’s got the good shit, huh?” Henry barked, rattling the bottle. </p><p>“I need those,” Richie wheezed, his hand still gripping his chest. </p><p>“Like shit, faggot,” Bowers said, popping the top and dumping its entire contents into his palm. Richie could only watch, doubled over in agony, helpless. Then, he tossed the now-empty bottle back through the window at Richie. It thumped against his shoulder and fell to the floorboard. “Have a good one, Trashmouth,” Bowers said, then snapped a couple pills into his mouth like tic-tacs before stalking off. Richie whimpered, trying to remember how to breathe right, waiting for the pain to ebb.</p><p>It didn’t. </p><p>Stan came out what felt like an eternity later and gasped when he saw Richie still curled in on himself. </p><p>“Rich,” he called, dropping his bag and running to Richie’s side. He flung the door open and knelt to Richie’s level. Richie groaned. “Richie, fuck, what happened?” Stan hissed, lifting Richie’s face and looking him over. Richie nodded to the empty pill bottle in the floorboard. </p><p>“Bowers,” he said. “Fuckin’ elbowed me for them.” </p><p>“Christ,” Stan breathed, then there was a fire in his eyes. “I’ll fucking kill him,” he swore, his fingers tightening on Richie’s cheek. The thought made him smile a little, scrawny Stanley street-fighting Henry Bowers. Honestly though, his money was on Stan, especially when he looked as pissed off as he did in that moment. </p><p>“Later,” Richie said. </p><p>“Right,” Stan said, shaking his head and pulling his hands away. “Shit, what do I do, Rich? Drive you home? To the hospital?” Richie felt his already struggling heart twist even more painfully. </p><p>“No,” he answered quickly, forcing himself to straighten up and fucking <em>deal</em> with how painful it was. He wouldn’t let Henry Fucking Bowers ruin his chance to see Eddie. He was fine. Bowers had just knocked him a little. </p><p>“Richie,” Stan said, his tone the exact same as the one his mother had given him before he’d left. Richie hated That Tone, even more so coming from his friends. They weren’t supposed to worry about him like that. </p><p>“Just pick up your jujubes, and let’s go,” Richie huffed, rolling his eyes. Stan gave him a lingering look, then stood, shutting the door firmly. Richie let his head fall back against the headrest, still trying to breathe. He kept his eyes closed the whole way over to Stan’s and got out—with some difficulty—on his own once they parked, a valiant testament to how truly <em>fine</em> he was. So what if the world swam a little and he felt like he was sweating all over? Stan gave him a long-suffering huff for his efforts but didn’t look back as he led the way inside. </p><p>“So fucking stubborn,” Stan grumbled as he pushed open his front door. </p><p>“Hey, Stan,” Richie heard through the ringing in his ears. His heart slammed painfully at the sound. Richie saw Eddie first, Eddie too busy rambling at Stan to notice Richie hobbling in behind him. Richie warmed all over as Eddie went on, “I brought over a few movies for us to pick from, and your mom said I could wait—Richie?!” Eddie chirped, his eyes finally swinging back to him. They widened comically, then in horror. “Rich,” Eddie whispered, eyes stuck on the middle of his chest. Richie glanced down in confusion, only to see a massive sludge of blood seeping through his t-shirt. </p><p>“Jesus Christ, Richie! I told you I should have driven you to the hospital!” Stan yelled, dropping his bag by the door. </p><p>“What the fuck happened?!” Eddie screeched, stepping closer and looking simultaneously like he wanted to touch Richie and stay as far away from him as humanly possible. Richie just wanted to sit the fuck down. </p><p>“Nothing,” Richie answered, at the same time that Stan hissed, “Henry Fucking Bowers happened.” </p><p>“I’m <em>fine</em>,” Richie groaned for the millionth time. </p><p>“<em>Fine?!</em> Richie, you’re bleeding all over my welcome mat!” </p><p>“I’m not bleeding on your welcome mat!” Richie said, rolling his eyes. Then, he looked down, and saw, yeah. A few drops of blood had sprung free of the hem of his shirt and had taken the dive down onto the mat. He glanced back up at Stan. “Sorry,” he said, with a sheepish smile. </p><p>“Get back in the car. I’m driving you to the hospital,” Stan said, stepping towards Richie. Richie didn’t step back. </p><p>“No.” </p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“No!”</p><p>“Yes! I’m not fucking arguing this with you, Richie. Get back in the fucking car, or I’ll call 911, and it’ll take you twice as long to get there, and you’ll have to pay the fifteen grand for the ambulance ride. Take your pick.” </p><p>Richie—to his utter mortification—felt hot tears spring to his eyes. There he was, in—<em>fine</em>—excruciating pain and slowly bleeding to death in front of the cutest boy he’d ever seen, and Stan was treating him like he was a child, no wiggle room.</p><p>“I just wanted one goddamn day,” Richie said, his voice tight. He glared at Stan, not daring to look over at Eddie. He couldn’t handle the humiliation or the disappointment of knowing he’d miss his chance to hang out with him. “One goddamn day that my fucking good-for-nothing heart didn’t get in the way.” Stan clenched his jaw. </p><p>“Too fucking bad,” he said. Richie saw Eddie wheel around and stare at Stan in shock, but Richie was glad for what he’d said. </p><p>Stan may worry, but he had never once pitied him. </p><p>It was enough to convince Richie to turn around and walk back out to Stan’s mom’s station wagon. He did sit in the back though, <em>and </em>slam the door, both of which because he was a dramatic bitch like that, and because he was pissed off at the world and at his shitty luck. </p><p>His luck felt a little less shitty when the back door opposite him eased open, and Eddie slid inside, smiling at him sheepishly. </p><p>Then, he felt like the luckiest bastard alive when Eddie reached out and took his hand, squeezed. </p><p>“I’m glad you’re here, Richie,” he murmured and squeezed again, a brilliant blush sweeping up over his cheeks. Richie just stared at him, mouth agape, thinking how much he wanted to hold this boy’s hand forever. Then, Stan opened the driver’s side door, and Eddie pulled away, facing forward with that blush still high on his cheeks. Richie thought he might kill Stan. </p><p>They drove to the hospital in relative silence, Stan occasionally warning Richie not to get blood all over the interior of his mother’s car, Richie occasionally answering that it was much too late for that, and Eddie occasionally stealing sidelong glances over at Richie, then turning away with that brilliant, beautiful blush across his cheeks. Richie felt like a puddle. He wasn’t sure why exactly a puddle, but if Stan had asked Richie at any one of the dozen instances of Eddie glancing shyly over at him how he was feeling, he would have said, <em>puddly,</em> immediately, and with great certainty. </p><p>The pain in his chest had become less of a wrenching agony and more of a blinding ache, but Richie refused to be blinded by it. A literal angel was sitting less than three feet away from him. He didn’t have time to be blinded by pain. </p><p>Eventually, they slid into the parking lot at Bangor’s emergency room, and Eddie and Stan both moved to help Richie out. Again, he felt like a pompous debutante, but with Eddie holding his hand out, Richie found that it wasn't so agitating. He did take a second to swat Stan’s hand pointedly out of the way before he let Eddie gingerly pull him out of the seat. Stan huffed, and Richie stuck his tongue out at him. </p><p>Once they made it to the front desk of the emergency room, he was whisked away pretty quickly. They put him in a temporary room, where he could hear the various bemoaning of emergency from every nearby door, and he glared up at the ceiling, again cursing his luck. It didn’t take long for the door to his room to open up for Ben ‘Handsome’ Hanscom, his favorite ER, nurse to pop his head in. </p><p>“C’mon, Richie,” he groaned, seeing the blood coating Richie’s shirt. Richie just grinned. </p><p>“Always a pleasure, Benji, my boy,” Richie said. Ben huffed and closed the door. Deft hands stripped away his shirt, and Richie worked not to burn red. (Ben was stripping him down, and Richie was only human.) </p><p>“You busted your stitches,” Ben said once he’d worked away the bandage tape. </p><p>“No shit,” Richie said, rolling his eyes. Ben glared up at him, still hunched over Richie’s wound. Richie gave him a grin. </p><p>“How’d you manage this?” </p><p>“Clumsy?” Richie offered, but Ben just cocked up an I’m-not-buying-it eyebrow. Richie sighed. “Some dickwad elbowed me for my pain meds.” </p><p>“Shit,” Ben huffed, dabbing an antiseptic pad across his chest, sopping up the still-oozing blood. “Are you in a lot of pain right now?” </p><p>Normally, he’d lie. But Ben stared up at him with those ageless eyes, and all Richie could do was nod. </p><p>“Yeah.” </p><p>“Alright. I’ll get you stitched up and start an IV. We’ll run an echo, too, to make sure the stent and sternum wiring are still secure.” Ben swiveled back on his rolling chair and started gathering suture supplies. </p><p>“You’re a handy man, Benny boy,” Richie commented idly, staring at the ceiling while Ben poked and prodded at him. Ben had done local anesthesia, but it was still easier if he didn’t watch. </p><p>“That’s what they tell me,” Ben answered absently, laser-like focus on Richie’s chest. Then, it went quiet, and Richie got itchy with it. There were still the various ER sounds filtering through, and the occasional squelch of his own flesh, but otherwise...just quiet. Richie hated it.</p><p>“Is Bev on duty today?” Richie asked after a while, practically bursting with it. He could have sworn he felt Ben’s normally unshakeable hand jerk. Richie didn’t look down, but he smirked. </p><p>“Uh, I’m not sure. Why?” </p><p>“Dude, when are you going to ask her out?” Richie asked, only half teasing. He knew Ben had a massive crush on Beverly, and honestly, Richie thought Bev and Ben would be great together. </p><p>“It’s not that simple, Rich,” Ben said with a sigh. Richie heard the tell-tale sound of scissors snipping closed, then Ben was pressing fresh bandages down around the war-sight. “You’re all stitched up, kid,” Ben said, leaning back and smiling at Richie. </p><p>“How come?” Richie pressed, turning back to their Bev conversation, pressing even as Ben sheared off his gloves and slipped into a fresh pair to start his IV. </p><p>“You know she’s dating that Tom guy.”</p><p>“He’s a fucking asshole!” Richie protested, grimacing through the pain of his vigor. Ben frowned. </p><p>“I’ll make sure I have a doctor write you a new prescription, too.”</p><p>“Maybe something that won’t make me sleep a million years?” Richie requested with a sweet smile. Ben rolled his eyes fondly and situated his IV bag neatly overhead. The relief was immediate. </p><p>“Just relax a little while, yeah? I’ll be back in a bit to take you to the echo.” Ben patted his shoulder and moved for the door. </p><p>“Ask her out, you coward,” Richie called after him, laughing as Ben turned to glare at him and shut the door firmly between them. </p><p>He laid there for a while, just reveling in <em>not</em> being in pain before the door to his room opened again, and he was met with his mother’s worried face.</p><p>“Richie,” she breathed, stepping forward and cupping his face. </p><p>“I’m fine,” he assured her. He thought he should just get a tattoo of the words. Save himself some time. </p><p>“You’re not fine, Rich,” she said. “Look at you! You promised me, no roughhousing!” </p><p>“I know, I know. It was an accident.” Richie knew he should tell her what happened with Bowers. But he knew his mother, and he knew that she would want to call the cops, and it’s not like a white boy with police connections like Bowers would go away for life for a drug charge. Then, he’d just be stuck with a pissed off Henry Bowers on his ass for the rest of his already-shortened life. It was easier to say it was an accident. </p><p>“Richie, please, <em>please</em>. You have to be careful. This could have ended up so much worse.” Richie saw the edges of his mother begin to fray. He closed his eyes, let his head loll back against the pillow. </p><p>“I know, Mom. I’m sorry,” he said. “It was just an accident.” </p><p>His mother took his hand and leaned down to press her lips to it. She stayed there holding his hand until Ben came back in and said the echo-tech was ready for him. </p><p>The echo was not fun, even in light of the IV meds sludging through him. They shoved a tube down his throat—since his chest was otherwise unavailable for a normal ultrasound—and even though he was mostly numb, he still felt like he was in one steady gag. </p><p>It was still better than an MRI though. Richie was notoriously shit at having MRI’s taken. He just couldn’t sit still that long, which meant it took even longer to get what they needed, and by the end of it, everyone was a cranky fucking mess. The plus side to having a metal NuvaRing spread-eagling his heart? No more MRI’s. </p><p>At the end of his echo, the tech relieved him of his constant gag and said the stent and sternum wires were still good. Then, she told him—quite haughtily, in Richie's opinion—to be more careful, and he tried his best not to say something smart-assy back. </p><p>His mother pushed him back out down the hall in a wheelchair, and Richie let her because he knew he’d put her through enough stress to last a lifetime. He also knew that pushing him in a wheelchair made her feel like she was helping him get better, and he didn’t have the heart—pun intended—to take that small semblance of control over their situation from her. </p><p>“Hey, um,” Richie started as they rounded a corner, closing in on the doors back out into the ER waiting room. “Are Stan and his friend still out there?” he asked, toying with the hem of his fresh t-shirt. His mother, the Boy Scout that she was, had come prepared with a change of clothes for him. He’d miss the old t-shirt though. It had been his favorite…</p><p>“Yes,” she answered. Her voice was thick with something close to teasing. Richie felt himself redden. “Interesting that your very cute roommate is now anxiously awaiting news of your well-being.” </p><p>“Is it?” Richie asked, feigning surprise. His mother stopped pushing the chair, her hand falling to the top of his head. </p><p>“You know I want you to be happy, Rich,” she murmured, fingers tugging through his curls. He felt himself stiffen.</p><p>“Why do I feel like there’s a <em>but</em> in there somewhere?” he asked tentatively. </p><p>“No buts,” she said quickly. “Just be careful, okay, sweetie? Love can be…well, heart-wrenching.” Richie’s face heated more. </p><p>“I barely know the guy,” he said, biting back a groan. She laughed and started pushing again. They walked/rolled in silence for a while before she spoke again. (Richie always had the sneaking suspicion that she wasn't fond of silences either.)</p><p>“What’s his name?” she asked.</p><p>“Come on, Ma! I’m not talking boys with you,” Richie said, not bothering to hide his groan now. He felt hot all over. His mother’s airy laugh tinkled down to him.</p><p>“I just asked what his name was!” she protested, pulling him to a stop in front of the emergency room doors. She pressed the automatic-open button, and they swung out, giving Richie a clear view of Eddie staring with bitten nails right at him. Richie watched in wonderment as a breath escaped Eddie, his posture deflating in relief. He elbowed Stan, and then, they were both standing, looking over at him, smiling. </p><p>“His name’s Eddie,” he whispered to his mother.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Eddie and Stan are talking about two very different things.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tw: internalized homophobia</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
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    <em>August ‘93</em>
 
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</div><p>Eddie felt like he’d been in the ER for a million years by the time those electric doors swung open and gave him the first breath of relief he’d had since Richie walked through Stan’s front door drenched in his own blood.</p><p>Eddie elbowed Stan quickly, and they both stood as Richie’s mother pushed him closer. He looked so small in the wheelchair. Eddie’s chest ached. Then, he wanted to kick himself for even thinking that. <em>Richie</em> was the one who was in pain. All thanks to Henry fucking Bowers, as if Eddie needed another reason to hate that bastard. </p><p>Richie spread his arms out wide, grinning. </p><p>“Good as new, my boys,” he called, a too-loud voice in the anxious-quiet waiting room. A few heads turned, but it took everything in Eddie not to fling himself into the chair with Richie and smother him in a hug. He just shifted his weight instead, measured his breaths.</p><p>“Everything’s alright?” Stan asked, and Eddie was glad. He hadn’t managed to find his voice behind his thrumming heart yet. Richie groaned.</p><p>“Ben <em>still </em>hasn’t asked Beverly out,” he said, his head lolling back. “I mean, he’s been in love with her for years, and he’s a solid nine and a half. There’s no reason she’d turn him down.” </p><p>“Richie,” his mother said gently, resting a hand on his shoulder. Eddie watched as Richie glanced back at her and something unspoken passed between them. He turned back to Stan and Eddie and smiled. It didn’t look as light as before, but it made Eddie’s pulse ratchet around nonetheless.</p><p>“I’m fine, Stanley,” Richie said. The four of them stood/sat in silence for a moment, while Richie kicked his wheelchair back and forth absently. Eddie still hadn’t found his voice. “So,” Richie said after a while. His eyes flicked up to Eddie’s. “Back to Stan’s house?” </p><p>“Rich,” his mother said, already shaking her head. </p><p>Eddie felt himself deflate. She was right, of course. Richie had just had the stitches of his open-heart surgery busted by the local asshole. He needed to be at home, resting. </p><p>But…Eddie wanted him with <em>them</em>. He wanted to find himself brave enough to take Richie’s hand in the low light of Stan’s living room. He wanted Richie to smile at him, soft and quiet. He wanted Richie to tease him, loud and boisterous, and he wanted to pretend like it annoyed him much more than it ever could. </p><p>“Mom,” Richie said. His voice was quiet and firm. Eddie watched another unspoken conversation pass between them. Richie’s mom’s lip quivered, and she sighed. Her gaze swung sharply around to Stan and Eddie.</p><p>“Do <em>not</em> let him trip again. Do you hear me, Stanley Uris? Eddie, I don’t know your last name, but that goes for you, too.” Her gaze was laser-focused, and Eddie swallowed. </p><p>“It’s Kaspbrak,” he squeaked. Then, he wanted to punch himself for finally finding his voice and letting <em>that</em> be the first thing that fell out. Mrs. Tozier’s lips pressed together, like she was fighting a smile. </p><p>“Well, Eddie Kaspbrak,” she said. Her hand pushed through Richie’s curls. “Don’t hurt my son.” </p><p>Eddie wasn’t so sure she was talking about Richie’s busted stitches anymore, and he gulped.</p><p>“<em>Mom</em>,” Richie groaned, ducking out from under her hand and wheeling closer to Eddie and Stan. “This is why I don’t tell you stuff,” he grumbled, but his mother just smiled. </p><p>“I won’t let him get hurt, ma’am,” Eddie said. Richie’s eyes flicked up to Eddie’s, and he looked so soft, so sure, that Eddie knew what he’d said was true. He’d never hurt Richie. </p><p>“It’s weird seeing you all the way up there, Kaspbrak,” Richie said. The corner of his mouth ticked up, and Eddie rolled his eyes. Count on Richie to make a short joke while Eddie was feeling sentimental. </p><p>He reached out and plucked the glasses off Richie’s face.</p><p>“There,” Eddie said, twirling the glasses by the arm. Richie squinted up at him, his mouth open in surprise. “Now you can’t see anything. Is that better?” A laugh rose from Richie, thick and beautiful with his nose squinched up, and Eddie grinned. </p><p>“I’m so glad I met you,” Richie said, so quiet that Eddie almost missed it. Maybe if he had, he wouldn’t have felt quite so feverish as he relinquished Richie’s glasses back to him. Richie slid them back on and stared up at Eddie, a dumb, dopey grin on his face. </p><p>“Alright then,” Richie’s mom said. She hiked her purse higher up her shoulder and glanced around the waiting room. “I’ll go pick up your prescription. Are you going to be home in time to take it or do you want me to drop it off at Stanley’s?” Richie’s eyes swung around to Stan. Stan shrugged.</p><p>“You’re welcome to stay, but I’ll take you home whenever you’re ready.” </p><p>“I’ll call you,” Richie said to his mother. She nodded and brushed her hand down his hair again. </p><p>“Please be careful, Richie. I’m serious.” </p><p>“I will, Ma,” Richie said, his voice nearly a groan. She considered him for a moment, then sighed. </p><p>“Alright. Bye, boys.” </p><p>Eddie, Stan, and Richie all said their goodbyes and watched as Mrs. Tozier left the ER. As soon as she was through the doors, Richie rolled out a quick drum beat on his thighs. </p><p>“Alright, movie night!” he called. A few of the same heads from earlier swung around to glare at them, but all Eddie could do was grin down at Richie. “I’ve gotta warn you guys. I’m still a little fucked up from the drugs they gave me in there, so please don't hold it against me if my sizzling love affair with Stanny's mom is more raucous that usual.” </p><p>Eddie rolled his eyes. </p><p>“Beep beep, dickhead,” Stan said, moving to the handles of Richie’s wheelchair and pushing him a sharp burst forward. </p><p>“Whoa! Easy, there, Urine," Richie said, snickering. "I’m delicate goods.” </p><p>“I’ll delicate goods you into a busy intersection,” Stan muttered, wheeling him towards the exit with Eddie right on his flank. </p><p>Once they got back to Stan’s car—still parked haphazardly in the ER parking lot—Eddie hooked as firm an arm around Richie’s waist as he could and tried not to feel joyful at the touch as they helped him into the backseat. A nurse came out and took the wheelchair back inside, and Eddie folded himself in beside Richie. </p><p>“What’s knocking around in that brain of yours, Spagheds?” Richie asked, swaying into Eddie’s shoulder as they left Bangor. Eddie blinked up at Richie. Nothing in particular had been “knocking around,” except how warm it was in the car with Richie sitting close enough that his lanky-ass knees brushed Eddie’s. Eddie grunted.</p><p>“Fucking hot in here,” he said, because that was fairly close to the truth. Richie grinned, scooted closer in the back and wrapped an arm around Eddie’s shoulders.</p><p>“Sorry, babe, that’s me.” </p><p>Eddie rolled his eyes, even though he had been thinking the same thing. </p><p>Part of him expected Richie to pull away as soon as his tease landed. That part of him was dreading the second, but even as Richie’s gummy grin fell, his arm stayed wrapped around Eddie. Eddie swallowed and leaned into him, just a bit. It was probably just the residual high from Richie's pain meds that was making him act like that, but Eddie didn't really have it in him to pull away. After all, Richie was hurt. He probably needed a little physical comfort.</p><p>Eddie caught Stan’s eye in the rearview, and Stan smirked but didn’t say anything. They rode in silence like that, all the way back to Derry. </p><p>Bill was sitting on Stan’s front steps when they pulled in, Silver tossed haphazardly to the side. His head whipped up as they parked, and a small, tender smile pulled across his lips. </p><p>“Stanley!” Richie hissed, his arm tightening around Eddie. (Eddie didn’t mind.) </p><p>“Not a word, Richard,” Stan answered, shouldering open the door and stepping out to greet Bill. Richie huffed and fell back in his seat. </p><p>“Well, I'll be goddamned. That bastard finally got the nerve,” Richie mumbled. He sounded awed, and Eddie pulled back to stare at him.</p><p>“How the <em>fuck</em> did you know that?” Eddie asked, and Richie grinned.</p><p>“I could sense it, Eds, ma boy. My little nips started tingling, and I—” Eddie slapped a hand over Richie’s mouth, holding tight even as Richie spoke against his palm.</p><p>“You’re disgusting, Trashmouth,” Eddie warned. He tried not to think about the fact that he was touching Richie’s lips. Richie’s eyes danced. He pulled his head back, so Eddie’s palm fell flatly between them. </p><p>Then, they were just sitting in the car, alone, in silence, and Richie had his arm around Eddie’s neck, smiling in that soft way of his, and Eddie was staring back, feeling like the world would open up and swallow him whole and for maybe the first time in his whole life, wishing that it wouldn’t. He wanted to live in that moment with Richie forever. Richie’s eyes slid down to Eddie’s mouth, close in the confines of Stan’s mom’s station wagon, and a sick, sinking feeling struck through Eddie. </p><p>He liked Richie. Fine. He did...</p><p>But Richie was a boy. </p><p>Plus, Richie’d already said he wasn’t quite in his right mind, and it was already confusing enough to know that he wanted Richie without having to jumble in the fact that Richie really couldn’t be held accountable for anything that might happen. </p><p>Eddie cleared his throat and turned towards the windshield, his face flaming. Richie was silent, his arm slid away, and Eddie felt like he’d been hollowed out.  </p><p>“You ready, Eds?” he asked after a moment. </p><p>Eddie nodded and pushed open the car door. The fresh air outside helped clear his head a bit, and he made his way around to help Richie out, frowning as Richie grimaced his way up. The arm he wrapped around Eddie was heavy, and Eddie struggled under the weight of him. </p><p>“Are you hurting?” Eddie murmured as they crept their way up Stan’s porch steps. </p><p>“Not too bad,” Richie huffed. He shot out a hand to grip the porch rail, and Eddie’s concern doubled. “I’m scared of heights,” Richie said, giving him a small shrug, to which Eddie cut him a look that said <em>yeah fucking right</em>. Richie’s sheepish smile turned into a full-on grin, and Eddie rolled his eyes. He hauled Richie through the front door where Bill and Stan had already taken root on the couch, talking lowly between themselves. Richie squeezed Eddie briefly then pulled away, falling dramatically forward so that his face wedged between theirs. </p><p>Eddie barely held back a snort at the sheer rage in Stan’s eyes. </p><p>“Whatcha talkin’ about?” Richie asked, swinging his head back and forth between them with an innocent smile. </p><p>“School,” Stan bit. “Not that you’d be interested, Mr. Middle-school-drop-out.” </p><p>“Hey, no. I didn’t drop out.” Richie put air quotes around <em>drop out</em>. Because he was that lame. Eddie rolled his eyes and folded down into the loveseat across from the trio. “I withdrew.” </p><p>“You sh-sh-should go back, Richie,” Bill said. </p><p>“You should <em>get back</em>,” Stan mumbled, and Richie snapped his teeth at him, grinning. Then, he grimaced his way upright and crashed into the couch beside Eddie. His limbs went sprawling, knocking into Eddie in a way that even former-closet-case Edward Kaspbrak knew was entirely intentional. He chose not to comment, just to fight the heat of Richie’s knee against his. </p><p>“Hmm…senior year at eight a.m. with a bunch of mullet-wearing assholes or senior year at noon with ice cream whenever I want?” Richie raised his hands in a scale, and the ice cream option quickly won. Bill snorted. </p><p>“I hear they’re h-h-having a back to school dance,” Bill said, rolling his eyes. The tips of his ears turned red, and Eddie raised an eyebrow. Richie, however, didn’t seem content to let the moment pass. </p><p>“Hoping someone special will ask you, Billiam?” Richie asked, batting his eyelashes. </p><p>“Shut up, Richie,” Stan warned. He sounded very serious, and Eddie felt his chest tighten. He wasn’t good with conflict, especially not other people’s. His own? Oh, fuck yeah. He was so fueled by rage and manic-energy that he could burst at any moment. But the look Stan was giving Richie, and the look Richie was giving back, each glaring? It made Eddie squirm. </p><p>Then, Richie threw up his hands. </p><p>“Fine, whatever. Honestly. Life’s too fucking short to be so scared shit-less all the time,” Richie said, and even though the words weren’t directed at Eddie, he felt them like a jab all the same. He squirmed more. </p><p>“Oh, you’re one to talk!” Stan bit back, flinging an arm out at Richie, at his limbs sprawled all over and knocking against Eddie’s. </p><p>“Are we going to watch this movie?” Eddie interrupted. He felt hot all over, and not in the good way. Like the way that meant if things didn’t air out soon, he might start hyperventilating. </p><p>Stan finally broke eye-contact with Richie to roll them. He pushed himself off the couch.</p><p>“Yeah,” he said. “I’ll make popcorn.” </p><p>“I’ll help,” Bill said quickly, following Stan out of the living room and down the hall to the kitchen. Richie let out a slow breath once they were gone. </p><p>“Are you okay?” Eddie asked. Richie lifted an eyebrow and scratched at his hair, not looking at Eddie. </p><p>“Yeah. Me and Stan have been friends a long time.” He finally glanced over at Eddie, and his mouth leveled out in a quick smile. “Never really been afraid to piss each other off.” </p><p>Eddie thought about that. Bill and Stan, they were his best friends. They fought sometimes, sure, but it was always with bated breaths and pulled punches. Eddie had never really met someone willing to push back at him. Not until Richie. He settled deeper into the loveseat and felt again how glad he was to have Richie sitting by his side. </p><p>Stan and Bill came back a few minutes later with popcorn and a couple of two-liters. Stan tossed a bottle of Aspirin, and it knocked Richie in the eyebrow.</p><p>“Ow, dickwad!” Richie called, after the bottle clattered down. Stan smirked, flicked the TV on, lights off, and settled back into the couch beside Bill. Eddie didn’t miss the way Stan’s hand—the one that wasn’t hogging the popcorn—found an easy resting place on the inside of Bill’s wrist. </p><p>Eddie envied him that. Even safe in the dark of Stan’s living room, where Stan held Bill and Bill let him, Eddie felt like his entire body was a live-wire. He spent the whole movie thinking about how much wanted to take Richie’s hand, trying to summon up whatever bravery had let him do exactly that when they first crawled into the back of Stan’s car, but he couldn’t. He felt like he was choked all over. All he could hear was his mother's big, swirling voice telling him he was wrong for wanting Richie. He felt like she was hiding just outside of the line of his sight, and more, he felt like if Richie were to bridge the gap between them, slide his palm across the chasm of the couch cushions and rest his pinkie against Eddie’s, Eddie might rip away and run right home to her, wailing about how right she was to be worried. </p><p>Richie didn’t touch him, except for that knee, still strewn haphazardly into Eddie’s, a single point of contact to swallow him whole. </p><p>When the credits rolled and Stan groaned his way off the couch to turn the lights back on, Eddie let out a breath he wasn’t sure he’d replaced since before the movie started. </p><p>He didn’t think he could do it. It was just like Richie had said. He was chicken-shit. Nothing but pure chicken-shit. He wanted Richie. God, he wanted Richie. He glanced over and saw that soft spot between his neck and shoulder, thought about how he’d called Richie, longed to bury himself in that soft spot. He still longed for that, breathing Richie in right there. But he couldn’t. He was frozen. </p><p>“You guys want more popcorn?” Stan asked—like he’d shared any of the first batch he made. Eddie shot up off the couch. </p><p>“I’ll get it,” he said quickly and raced to the kitchen, ignoring all the furrowed brows of his friends. He just needed a chance to regroup and to remind himself that Richie was right. Love was never wrong. (Jesus, not that he was already in <em>love</em> with Richie...just... Fuck, he wasn't wrong for wanting Richie.) </p><p>Eddie tossed a bag into the microwave—normally, eating food out of the microwave made his skin crawl with the ghost of his mother’s voice and shrill warnings of carcinogens and radiation poisoning, but he thought if he had to work the stove right now, he’d burn everything down and it maybe wouldn’t be an accident—and leaned back against the counter, his head down. God, he was screwing it all up. Richie probably thought he was a total spaz. Eddie thought he was a total spaz…</p><p>“What the fuck was that?” Stan asked, appearing in the kitchen doorway with an eyebrow raised and an amused set to his lips. </p><p>“I don’t know,” Eddie groaned. He brought his hands up to his face and tried to scrub the fear away. He could be brave. He could hold Richie’s hand. He could do it. He could do it. “I just got scared…” Eddie chanced a look up at Stan, who was watching him, the amused look long gone. “He scared me in the car today,” Eddie murmured after a beat. He’d felt so sure Richie was about to lean those last, barest inches and kiss him…</p><p>“I know he did,” Stan said, nodding a bit. Eddie cocked his head towards him. He'd figured Stan was too wrapped up in Bill to have seen their little moment in the back of the car. Stanley went on, firm, “But stop being weird. He doesn’t want you to treat him any differently.” </p><p>“I’m not treating him differently,” Eddie answered immediately. Then, he thought about it, how rigid he’d been, how distant Richie had seemed. “I didn’t mean to treat him differently,” Eddie amended. “I’m just scared, you know? It’s a big commitment, a complete overhaul of my whole life.” </p><p>If he and Richie got together for real—God, the thought made his stomach roll. He wasn’t sure if it was good or bad. If they got together for real, everything would change. His mom would inevitably find out. Hell would rain down. He’d have to come out. He’d have to learn how to work through the fear, learn how to love Richie the way he knew he deserved. </p><p>Stan’s whole face went sour. Eddie had known him long enough to know that clench of his fist, and he reeled back, confused at Stan’s sudden anger. He back-peddled through what he’d said, trying to find what had set Stan off, but he couldn't think of anything. </p><p>“Richie may be loud and ridiculous and oftentimes the absolute worst," Stan seethed. Eddie stepped back against the counter, stunned by the anger in his voice. He went on, low and dangerous, "But I guarantee you, Eddie Kaspbrak, that you would be fucking <em>lucky</em> to have Richie Tozier loving you for any length of time.” </p><p>Eddie blinked, and Stan stomped off, slamming the kitchen door on his way out. </p><p>What the actual fuck had just happened? Was Stan seriously pissed that Eddie wasn’t ready to have his first gay experience? His first experience, period? Who the fuck said <em>Stanley Uris</em> got to dictate Eddie’s love life?? Fuck that. </p><p>But also, fuck him, because Eddie knew he was right, and that pissed Eddie off. He would be lucky if Richie liked him the way Eddie—<em>God</em>—thought he did, and he’d lose his shot if he didn’t let Richie know he felt the same…</p><p>The timer on the microwave screeched, and Eddie flinched out of his confused anger. He dumped the popcorn into two bowls—because he was fucking magnanimous, <em>Stanley</em>—and carried it back into the living room where Stan sat ramrod straight on the couch, glaring ahead, and Bill and Richie were passing confused glances between each other and Stan. Eddie choked down the urge to scream at Stanley right then and there and handed the popcorn bowl to Bill without a word. </p><p>When he settled back in beside Richie, he sat closer than before, their shoulders brushing and popcorn nestled between them. It was a baby step, but it was a step, nonetheless. </p><p>He didn’t make any more steps as the next movie played, or the one after that, but Richie was touching him nearly shoulder to ankle, and it made Eddie buzz. He was still nervous, but it felt less debilitating than it had before Stan had gotten all pissy on him. It felt more like anticipation than anxiety. </p><p>By the time Richie’s mom showed up to take him home, their day in the sun was gone, and Eddie tried not to hate himself for not being brave enough. </p><p>“You’ll come see me, right, Eds?” Richie asked, leaning back heavily on the passenger door when Eddie walked him out. His mom waited patiently behind the wheel, behind closed doors. It made Eddie feel a little better about the way he was sure he was looking at Richie.</p><p>“Of course,” Eddie answered. He meant it, too. He’d wasted that day in the sun, but he’d only gotten braver each time he saw Richie. He fully intended to be brave enough next time to hold that fucking hand for more than a second. Richie reached said hand out and pinched Eddie’s cheek. </p><p>“Cute, cute, cute,” he crooned. Eddie slapped him away.</p><p>“Crippled or not, I <em>will</em> punch you,” Eddie warned. He hoped the threat was enough to cover the flush in his cheeks. </p><p>Richie threw his head back and laughed. </p><p>“There’s the feisty bean we all know and love,” he said. “Wondered where you’d gone.” Eddie suddenly remembered Stan telling him he was being weird around Richie. </p><p>“Thought I’d play nice after getting your chest bashed open, but then I got tired of listening to your trash mouth,” Eddie said, fighting a smile. </p><p>“Why do you think I keep the trash mouth around? Can’t have you giving me special treatment.” Richie’s smile went a little tight, but Eddie pushed the concern away. </p><p>“The only special treatment you deserve is maybe a lice treatment,” Eddie quipped. He felt it bubble up, the bravery, and then he was reaching out and combing through Richie’s curls, forcing a disgusted look onto his face to cover the quiet awe he felt. Richie's hair was soft, and he seemed to droop under his touch, eyes slipping closed. Eddie brought his hand down, his heart thudding, brave, brave, brave, to cup Richie’s cheek. Richie definitely leaned into that touch, and he looked so soft that Eddie’s stomach clenched.</p><p>He smacked Richie’s cheek, and his eyes flew open behind his thick glasses.</p><p>“Rude,” Richie breathed. His cheeks were red, and Eddie knew he hadn’t slapped him nearly hard enough to make them turn. He grinned up at Richie. </p><p>“I’ll see you, Rich,” he said, and Richie sighed, rolling dramatically away from Eddie to pull open the car door. </p><p>“You’re mean, you know that?” he asked, settling down into his seat and glaring up at Eddie. </p><p>“Yep. Hi, Mrs. Tozier,” Eddie said, ducking down to wave at Richie’s mom. She smiled at him, her eyes playful. Eddie knew that look, that was a Richie-about-to-cause-shit look. It almost startled him to see it reflected there in both of their faces. It certainly didn’t put him at ease.</p><p>“Don’t flirt with my mom right in front of me, Eds,” Richie said, and suddenly, it was Eddie’s turn to mirror Richie’s mom.</p><p>“Richie!” they both hissed, but Richie just threw his head back and cackled. When his shoulders shook, an odd croak came from him. His laugh stopped abruptly. </p><p>“What the fuck,” Richie said, glancing down at his chest.</p><p>“Language,” Mrs. Tozier warned. Richie shifted his shoulders again, and again, he croaked. </p><p>“Oh, no way,” Richie said, a grin tearing across his face. He shimmied and shook and <em>croaked</em>. Eddie was only mildly horrified. </p><p>“It’s the sternum wires,” Mrs. Tozier said, watching her son with an amused expression. “The doctors said some clicking was to be expected.”</p><p>“It’s music, Mama,” Richie said. He flipped his shoulders in then back out then in, rhythmically. The rhythm to Jingle Bells quickly emerged—sounding much like his Voices, indistinguishable but enthusiastic—and all Eddie could do was stand there watching him and wondering how the fuck it was Richie Tozier that he wanted so fucking much. Then, Richie laughed, so gleefully, so full of life and light, that Eddie knew. </p><p>He shut the door gently between them and watched them go, Richie’s silhouette twisting and contorting in the back windshield. Eddie swore to himself that he would be braver next time. </p><p>Next time turned out to be two agonizing weeks later. As he’d biked home from movie night, the chain on his bike snapped. (Eddie blamed having to leave it on the street-side after the cops had picked him up. The fucking morning dew had probably rusted it.) He’d walked immediately to the hardware store, but apparently, the factory workers were on strike, which, like, good for them, but Eddie <em>needed</em> his bike. He <em>needed</em> to see Richie. He’d lain awake night after night summoning the courage and thought he finally had enough stored up to do something brave.</p><p>He could have walked to Richie’s house, but he knew—in theory, he’d never been himself—that it would have taken all damn day, and then he’d have had to turn right around and walk home to make it back by dark. He damn sure couldn’t ask his mom to drive him, and he was still a little hurt from Stan’s fit to go around asking favors. Besides, Stan was spending most of his time—all of his time—with Bill these days, and as happy as Eddie was for them, it made him a little sick, too, to see them together. There was some murky emotional soup in his gut when he realized that the sick feeling was because he knew that it could have been him and Richie if he wasn’t such absolute chicken-shit. </p><p>He and Richie talked on the phone just about every night, so it wasn’t like he was completely deprived of him, but it wasn’t the same as being right there with him and seeing that grin live and in color. </p><p>Two weeks after movie night, Eddie was in the middle of his fourteenth trip to the hardware store. </p><p>“Eddie, I told you I’d call when it came in,” the store manager, Julia, told him, bringing a weathered hand up to her forehead. </p><p>“I know, I just…” Eddie said, and Julia shook her head.</p><p>“I know. You’re restless.”</p><p>Eddie nodded pathetically. Just then, the chime over the front door sounded, and Eddie glanced back to see the home-schooled kid, Mike, striding in, looking very determined. </p><p>“See, I <em>called</em> him, and only then did he show up,” she told Eddie firmly, then turned her attention to Mike. “I’ll go get your part, sweetie,” she said, then heaved herself off the stool behind the counter. </p><p>“Hey,” Eddie said, feeling something warm buzzing around in him. It was a Richie feeling. Eddie knew Mike was Richie-adjacent. “You’re Mike Hanlon, right?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Mike said, smiling. “And you’re Eddie.” </p><p>“What gave me away?” Eddie asked. </p><p>“Richie said you had a cast and a fanny pack,” Mike answered easily, grinning, and Eddie huffed. He had another three weeks at least in the cast, but he was glad it would be off before school started back. </p><p>“Richie runs his mouth too much,” Eddie answered. Richie’s name fell off his lips like a firecracker. He felt sure Mike could <em>hear</em> how electric it had tasted, how illicit. </p><p>“That he does,” Mike answered with a solemn nod. A loud clang rattled out from behind the door Julia had gone through, and their conversation stilled for the shuffling and cursing. Eddie snorted and swung his eyes back to Mike.</p><p>“Are you building something?” Eddie asked.</p><p>“Actually, yeah. Me and Rich have been trying to get his dad’s old truck in shape.” </p><p>“Really?” Richie hadn’t mentioned it in any of their phone calls—mostly their calls consisted of fart jokes and excited ramblings of the newest <em>Mothman</em> comic—and the very idea of Richie under the hood of a vehicle was enough to make Eddie burst into hives. Then, it was enough to send a shiver down his spine. </p><p>“Yeah. It’s a piece of junk, but it’s paid for, so I mean…” </p><p>Eddie nodded, not that he really knew. Sonia would keel over and die before she let Eddie behind the wheel of a vehicle. He was seventeen and didn’t even have his learner’s permit. </p><p>They both fell silent, and Eddie scrambled for a way to talk about Richie more. Julia came back with Mike’s part before he could think of something. Mike thanked her and paid her and turned for the door. Eddie watched him go, feeling stupidly helpless at Mike just being able to <em>go and see Richie</em>. Then, Mike paused and turned back to him. </p><p>“I’m, uh. I’m actually going over there now, if you want to come?” he offered. Dark eyes swept over Eddie, probably taking in how forlorn he looked at the idea of Richie being so close and so fucking far away. At Mike’s offer, Eddie felt his whole body straighten. </p><p>“Really?!” he asked. He knew he sounded over-eager, but it had been a long, Richie-less two weeks. He hardly had it in him to feel ashamed, doubly so when Mike laughed and nodded.</p><p>“Yeah, of course. I’m sure Richie would be thrilled to see you.” Mike smiled like he knew, and Eddie didn’t remember that he was supposed to be embarrassed by his feelings. Richie trusted Mike, so Eddie trusted Mike. </p><p>“That would be awesome,” Eddie said. </p><p>“Well, come on, then.” Mike led the way out of the hardware store to a rust-riddled white truck. Eddie climbed in thinking it was the most beautiful vehicle he’d ever seen. </p><p>They talked a little on the drive to Richie’s, but mostly, Eddie was too jittery to hold much conversation. He just let the trees whiz by and mark the moments until Mike was flinging gravel down a small driveway. </p><p>Eddie knew, again, in theory, where Richie’s house was, but this was the first time he’d actually seen it. It seemed to match Richie, a little chaotic with overzealous grass and bikes dumped down into it, brightly painted shutters, and a stream of staticky radio pouring out of the open garage. </p><p>“Rich!” Mike yelled, killing the engine and pushing open the door. Eddie stepped out as well, following Mike’s eye toward the garage. Eddie could see Richie’s knobby knees poking out from under the bumper of a greasy, grumpy-looking ’61 Dakota. “Richie!” Mike shouted, slamming his door and cupping his hands around his mouth. </p><p>There was a clang of metal, and the board Richie laid on slid out. He sat up, grinning, grease staining his cheek, sun in his eyes, sweat soaking his collar, and Eddie’s breath caught. He looked disgusting, and Eddie wanted to run to him. </p><p>“Mikey! Eds!” Richie laughed and pushed himself upright. Mike started towards him, and Eddie followed, dazed. “I didn’t know you were coming, Spaghetti,” Richie said once Eddie had stepped into the garage. He looked like he wanted to hug him but with a quick glance down at himself, stopped. He pushed his glasses up his face with the back of a greasy hand. It left a smudge. </p><p>“Yeah, well. Had nothing better to do.” Eddie fought a smile, but Richie didn’t. Eddie felt like his whole body was full-up on Richie. It had been two weeks since he’d seen him. Too fucking long. Eddie didn’t want to think about how long they’d go without face-to-face contact once school started back for him, and he didn't want to think too hard about why not seeing Richie made him feel so cagey and strung out. </p><p>“Brought your part,” Mike said, offering out the package he’d picked up from Julia. Richie took it and unwrapped it.</p><p>“Cool.” He turned the glob of twisted metal over in his hands, smudging that, too. “What’s it do?” </p><p>Eddie couldn’t fight a smile anymore. A snort tore up through him.</p><p>“Were you just under there touching stuff?” Eddie asked. </p><p>“Generally, yes,” Richie said, winking. Mike groaned. </p><p>“Just sit down,” he said, taking the part back from Richie. “I’ll do it.” Mike moved around Richie to kneel at the truck’s front. Richie crossed his arms and grinned at Eddie.</p><p>“My master plan,” he said.</p><p>“You’ve got grease literally all over you, Rich,” Eddie said, trying to find it in him to be annoyed. Richie just shrugged.</p><p>“It’s part of my charm. Ladies love a grease monkey, isn’t that right, Mikey?” </p><p>“I want no part of this,” Mike said, not looking up from the tools in his hands. Eddie had literally no clue, but it looked like he was making more efficient work of it than Richie had been. </p><p>“Where’d you learn all this?” Eddie asked, watching the sure twist of Mike’s fingers. </p><p>“My grandpa,” Mike answered. He glanced over his shoulder at Eddie and smiled. Eddie thought it was a very genuine smile, thought he was sad to have only officially met Mike now. Pretty soon, he’d be heading off to college and leaving Derry. </p><p>Eddie pushed the thought away almost immediately. </p><p>“I’m gonna change shirts,” Richie said. “You guys want some soda or something?” </p><p>“Sure,” Mike said. He pulled a part out of the truck and set it gingerly to the side. Then, he picked up the one he’d brought for Richie and started installing it. </p><p>“Eds?”</p><p>“Yeah, that sounds great,” Eddie said. He glanced over at Richie, standing in the doorway of the garage with midday sun pouring down over him. “I’ll go with you,” he said quickly. Richie smiled, then bowed dramatically at the waist.</p><p>“After you, my darling,” he said. Eddie thought it was Southern, and he rolled his eyes. Richie fell into step beside him as they crossed the yard to the house. “My sister’s camped out on the couch watching a soap opera or some shit, so don’t let it offend you if she ignores you entirely.” Richie pushed open the front door and stepped inside. It was cozy on the inside and smelled like Richie. Eddie liked it. He could see the top of Richie’s sister’s head peeking over the couch—same dark curls—but otherwise, it was empty. The TV grumbled quietly, and Eddie followed Richie into the kitchen. </p><p>“Nicole,” Richie whined, tugging open the refrigerator. </p><p>“What do you want?” his sister answered sharply, not even turning her head. </p><p>“Will you get me a clean shirt?” Richie put on what Eddie could only guess was his best pleading voice. He set out three glasses and dropped some ice into each of them.</p><p>“The fuck do I look like?” Nicole bit back. </p><p>“The best sister in the world?” Richie said, batting his eyelashes even though she still wasn’t looking up.</p><p>“You can walk up the stairs, Richie,” she answered with a huff. The TV volume suddenly grew. </p><p>“They cut a hole in my chest, Nic!” Richie called over the steadily loudening noise. </p><p>“Can’t hear you!” </p><p>“I’ll get you a shirt, Rich,” Eddie offered. Only because he didn’t really want to have his eardrums burst by Richie’s sister ignoring him. Not at all because he was secretly curious as to what Richie’s room looked like. </p><p>“Nah, I’m just being annoying,” Richie said. He poured a little extra into one of the three glasses so they were all even. Eddie’s heart raced. “I really have been going up the stairs fine.” </p><p>“I don’t mind.” </p><p>“My room’s messy.”</p><p>“I’m not surprised by that.”</p><p>“Ouch.” Richie gave Eddie a flat look, then it dissolved as his mouth ticked up. “We can go together,” he said. He tucked the soda bottle back into the fridge and waved his hand. </p><p>“Okay,” Eddie said, because that felt appropriate. Felt better than admitting he was suddenly nervous at the prospect of being alone with Richie in his room. He reminded himself he’d been storing up courage, even though it felt very far away in that moment. </p><p>He followed Richie up the stairs.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>MIKE! MIKE! MIKE!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Eddie's cold-ass nose makes Richie<em> feel</em> things.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tw: contemplation of death (relating to Richie's heart)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div>
  <p>
  
    <em>August ‘93</em>
 
</p>
</div><p>Eddie Kaspbrak was in his room. It smelled a little funky—like always—and was a mess—Richie'd tried to warn him—but there Eddie stood, taking in the band posters and guitar and smiling a little while trying to pretend he wasn’t. Richie liked when he did that, and he liked even more the moment he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t smiling anymore.</p><p>Richie had planned on just scooping a shirt up off the floor, but with Eddie standing at his back, he opted for the drawers. </p><p>He threw his dirty shirt in the hamper—maybe a first—and shrugged into the new one, ignoring the tug in his chest. It didn’t really hurt anymore, and at his last check-up, Bev had told him his stitches were mostly dissolved already, so he would be clear to ease his way back into normalcy. </p><p>“<em>Ease</em>, Rich,” she’d warned, giving him an I-know-the-way-you-live-your-life-and-it-worries-me look. He’d grinned at her. </p><p>When he turned back around to Eddie, he saw a blush high on his cheeks, even though he was resolutely staring away from where Richie had been changing shirts. Warmth surged through Richie. He pushed it down. </p><p>Last time he’d felt that warmth, they had been in the back of Stan’s mom’s car, and Richie had been watching Eddie’s lips. He’d been working up the nerve to shove down the gripping, consuming fear of rejection and kiss him, then Eddie had gone rock-still under Richie’s touch, and Richie got the message. Eddie was scared, and Richie got it. </p><p>“Are you ready, Eddie?” Richie asked. Eddie cut him a glare.</p><p>“Don’t rhyme with my name,” he said. </p><p>“It was an accident,” Richie said, grinning. Eddie rolled his eyes and moved for the stairs. “Wait! The stairs aren’t steady, Eddie!” </p><p>“You’re the worst,” he said, walking quickly. Richie giggled as he followed.</p><p>“You’re going to get sweaty, Eddie, walking so fast.” He took the steps faster, and Richie matched him, grinning. “Honestly! You’ll be sweaty like the Serengeti, Eddie!” </p><p>Eddie stopped, mid-step, and whirled around on Richie. Richie stumbled and landed hard on his feet on the step just above him. </p><p>“I mean it,” he said, narrowing his eyes. He was barely chest-height with Richie on the stair above him. </p><p>“I don’t know, Eddie,” Richie said. His voice felt very close. <em>Eddie</em> felt very close. “The look you’re giving me is kind of heady.” </p><p>“Keep it up, and you’ll be deady,” Eddie said, glaring. It was enough to swallow up the heat Richie felt. He threw his head back and laughed. He wanted to kiss Eddie so hard. Eddie’s mouth twitched, like he was fighting a smile. </p><p>“Come on, Kaspbrak. Mikey’s probably thirsting to death out there,” Richie said. Eddie rolled his eyes and turned on his heels, bouncing the rest of the way down the stairs on those thighs that had Richie all kinds of weak. They picked up their sodas from the living room, ignored Nicole as hard as she was ignoring them, and made their way back outside. </p><p>Mike was under the truck as Richie had been earlier when they stepped back into the garage. At least Mike probably knew what he was doing under there. Richie had been making a valiant effort, really. It was his truck, and he felt like he should know the basics of it. But really, all it was, was an effort.</p><p>Still, he was proud of his truck. He could admit that biking around was a little strenuous for him to do full-time, and he was determined not to spend what was left of summer trapped in his house. The two weeks he’d been trapped already—without Eddie, fuck—had been almost enough to finish the job his trash heart hadn’t been able to yet. </p><p>The <em>yet</em> part of his internal monologue caught him up short. He glanced over at Eddie, laughing easily with Mike, afternoon sunlight falling down around him, those dimples. God, he loved the dimples. It had been a long time since he'd dreaded the <em>yet</em>. </p><p>He tried to push the <em>yet</em> far, far away. </p><p>“What do you guys say we pick up some Losers and go to the quarry?” Richie asked, chasing the thoughts out like an old man with a broomstick. Eddie’s eyes danced when he looked over. </p><p>“Really?” he asked, sounding some fuzzy mix of excited and surprised. It made Richie’s head swim a little, the spark of pure joy lighting up in Eddie’s eyes.</p><p>“Why not?” Richie shrugged. Mike had wheeled himself out from under the truck while he and Eddie chatted, so now, he stared up at them from the creeper, smiling. </p><p>“The quarry sounds awesome,” Mike said. He pushed himself up and set his tools back in the toolbox. “Let’s go.” </p><p>They locked down the garage, told Nicole where they were headed—not that she gave any semblance of caring—and piled up in Mike’s truck. Richie was very, very glad Mike had a single cab. He thought he might combust from how close he was sitting to Eddie, how necessary it was. Eddie had a delicious flush on his cheeks, and that dimple was just…just fucking obliterating Richie. </p><p>They found Bill and Stan loitering in Bill’s front yard, and Richie leaned across Eddie to hang out of the window—ignoring the heat Eddie’s body was putting off—and bid them forward. They both rolled their eyes, but they climbed into the bed of Mike’s truck anyway, and Richie settled back down pressed against Eddie. </p><p>He was actually glad when they stopped and Eddie crawled out. At least then Richie could breathe again. Eddie took a moment to stretch, and Richie took a moment to <em>refuse</em> looking at the stripe of skin that peeked out from under his shirt. And failed. He followed his friends to the water, dazed. </p><p>Stan, Bill, and Eddie turned for the cliffs almost immediately, like it was something they’d done a million times, but Richie’s heart just hammered. When Eddie turned back to look at him, the excitement was clear in his eyes. </p><p>“You coming?” he asked, stretching out his hand. God, Richie <em>ached</em> to take his hand. He’d follow him anywhere.</p><p>But also, he really was petrified of heights. Like, very genuinely, shit-his-pants-and-cry petrified. Richie motioned to his chest, like a coward.</p><p>“Probably shouldn’t,” he said, and Eddie’s eyes flicked down. </p><p>“Right, sorry,” Eddie said, looking actually sheepish, like he was sad Richie would miss out. Richie didn’t mention the relief at Eddie dropping it so easily, just watched Eddie climb up after Bill and Stan. </p><p>“You going to jump?” Richie asked, turning back to Mike. Mike had his shirt slung over his shoulder and shoes in his hands. He snorted.</p><p>“Hell no. That’s some dumb white folk shit if I’ve ever seen it,” he said, raising an eyebrow at Stan and Bill and Eddie, steadily climbing to the top of the cliff. “You want to swim?” Mike asked instead, and Richie nodded. </p><p>He started shucking off his clothes, glad to see when he looked up towards the cliff, that Bill, Stan, and Eddie had stripped down to their undies. Of course, he was only glad because he wouldn’t be the only one in his undies…not at all because Eddie would be in<em> his </em>undies. Undies, undies, undies… </p><p>Richie swallowed and dove in. </p><p>He and Mike swam around for a few minutes, breathing in the sunlight, waiting for the trio to finally make it to the top. Once they did, there was very little hesitation before Eddie was stepping back from the ledge. Richie watched him, glaring up into the sunlight, wondering if he had changed his mind about jumping. His stomach was in knots just watching him. Then, Eddie took a running start and fucking <em>leapt</em> off the ledge. Richie’s breath caught, his eyes wide as Eddie fell and fell and fell and, finally, crashed through the surface of the water. </p><p>Just like that, Richie was swimming over to him as fast as he could, terrified he’d hit the water wrong, horrified that Eddie would drown there after jumping a thousand fucking feet to the waves. Then, Eddie popped back up, laughing, a light in his eyes so pure that Richie had to stop. </p><p>“Christ,” he breathed, deflating. His eyes tore across Eddie, just to be sure. But he looked fine, really, really fine. He looked alive. He kicked his way over to where Richie was still doggy-paddling, trying to wrap his mind around the fireball enigma of Eddie Kaspbrak. Eddie, who was sometimes so terrified that it locked him up in panic attacks. Eddie, who fucking <em>leapt</em> off that massive cliff and came up laughing. Richie’s heart stuttered. Eddie was so, so alive, and Richie wanted to be close to him just to know what it was like, to taste it for himself.</p><p>“You scared the hell out of me, Kaspbrak!” Richie croaked, reaching out and trapping Eddie’s face between his hands, turning him this way and that, as though checking for injury. It was for show, yeah, but a little genuine, too. Eddie ducked away, still laughing.</p><p>“Man, I love that,” he said, glancing back up towards the cliff face as Stan’s excited cry tore through the air as he fell. Stan popped back up looking just as alive as Eddie had. </p><p>“You too?” Richie asked, incredulous. Stanley shrugged. </p><p>“It’s exhilarating.” </p><p>After Bill made the jump, the five of them made their way to shallower waters, where they could kick around and drench each other on solid footing. Bill, Stan, and Eddie were quick to get into a three-way water war, and Richie kicked over to the edge to watch. He settled his ass down against the rocky bank and smiled, water lapping around his hips. Mike joined him not long after, and they sat in silence, just listening to the others bicker and laugh. </p><p>“I like him,” Mike said finally, swaying into Richie’s shoulder. Richie had had his head back, soaking in the last of the day’s sunshine, feeling warm to his core with Eddie’s laugh ringing in his ears.</p><p>“Hmm?” Richie asked, glancing over at Mike. Mike smiled and nodded towards their friends. </p><p>“Eddie. He seems good for you.” </p><p>Richie snorted and closed his eyes again. He tried to ignore the tugging in his chest, the way the <em>yet</em> hissed around inside of him, louder now. Eddie might be good for him, yeah. Eddie might make Richie feel things he’d never thought he’d feel, yeah. Eddie might be so, so alive, the kind of alive Richie could only dream about, but Richie was there to leave a beautiful corpse. Not a beautiful widow. </p><p>“Glad I have ole Mikey’s seal of approval,” Richie said dryly. He tried to sound joking, so Mike would roll his eyes and let it drop, but as the words came out, he thought he mostly just sounded bitter and sad that he was going to die young. He screwed his eyes closed tighter. </p><p>“You okay, Rich?” Mike asked, but Richie didn’t open his eyes. He didn’t think he could stomach the concerned-Mike look he knew he’d be getting. </p><p>“Peachy.” </p><p>“You know you can talk to me, man,” Mike said lowly. Eddie’s laugh rang out across the empty quarry. Mike reached out and laid a hand on Richie’s shoulder, and Richie finally looked over at him. He seemed to glow in the sunlight, warm and bottomless, and Richie nodded despite himself.</p><p>“Yeah.” </p><p>“So, talk to me, huh? What’s bugging you?” Mike was looking at him in that earnest and worried way of his, and it made Richie squirm. He loved his friends. He loved his friends with his whole heart, and it fucking sucked to see them care about him the way they all did. It made him feel selfish because one day, and one day soon, he was going to die. </p><p>“I like him, man,” Richie said, glancing back at Eddie. Stan shoved him hard under the water, and Eddie came up swinging, his cast tied off under a plastic bag and Bill laughing at his shoulder. </p><p>“You think he doesn’t like you back? Because, Rich, c’mon. You should have seen him at the hardware store this morning. He lit up like the stupid sun when I offered him a ride to see you.” Richie groaned and leaned forward, Mike’s hand falling off his shoulder.</p><p>“See, no. That’s the issue. I…I think he really does like me, too." Richie's insides twisted, giddy and confused, and he went on, stumbling, "I mean, maybe, I dunno. He was kind of weird the last time I saw him, but whatever! That’s not the point! The point is…if he <em>does</em> like me, well, what then?” Richie chewed his lip, watching Eddie. He looked so good out there. So happy. Richie wanted to hold that Eddie against his chest and keep him forever. He didn't want to hurt him.</p><p>“I’m not following you, Richie,” Mike said, leaning forward on his knees and trying to catch Richie’s eye. Richie refused to look away from Eddie. “If you like him and he likes you, now, I’m no expert, but I think that means you date. Isn’t that what you want?” </p><p>“No! Ugh, fuck, yes. Yes, I do. But, Mike, I’m <em>dying</em>.” Richie finally turned away from Eddie to stare at Mike. “Okay? And he doesn’t even know that. He just thinks I’m fucking prone to staph infections, which is the stupidest fucking thing, honestly, but…but if he feels the way about me that I feel about him,” Richie trailed off. He found his eyes pulled back to Eddie. “It’s not fair to him…”</p><p>The sounds of the water-war rang out around them for a long moment while Mike and Richie sat silent. When Mike finally broke the silence, his voice was hard. </p><p>“Honestly, Richie, I could straight-up punch you sometimes,” he growled, surprising Richie into looking over at him.</p><p>“I’d deserve it almost one hundred percent of the time, but why in this particular instance?” he asked, hoping to catch some humor in Mike’s face. There was none. </p><p>“You act like it’s a death sentence for <em>him</em>, too,” Mike said, glaring at Richie.</p><p>“It would hurt him,” Richie answered, furrowing his brows. “It’s going to hurt everyone except me. How is that not selfish?” </p><p>“Do you think I wouldn’t give everything I had, every single, solitary thing that I had to be able to have had my parents for just a day longer? An hour?” Mike’s eyes were sharp, but it surprised Richie to see tears along the edges, too. Richie swallowed thickly, chewing his lip. “It fucking sucks. It does. But man, the people that care about you, the people that <em>love you</em>? We want every second we can get. Don’t push us away.” </p><p>It took Richie a long while to find his voice. He was just sitting there, staring at Mike, both with tears in their eyes.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he whispered finally, and Mike’s lip quivered. He tugged Richie against his chest, lightning quick and tight enough to bruise. </p><p>Richie didn’t want him to let go. </p><p>“You’re so stupid sometimes, Rich,” Mike said against his shoulder, and Richie nodded. He still didn’t believe all the ways that he was worth the pain of losing, but you know… He could hug Mike hard enough to let him know that he was at least afraid. They could share that much. </p><p>When Mike finally let him go, Richie cleared his throat and turned back to Eddie. </p><p>“Go to him, my dude,” Mike said, waving his hand dramatically towards the water. And towards Eddie. Richie snorted but nodded. He pushed himself out of the ass-deep water and waded towards Eddie. The grin he got in return? Worth everything. </p><p>They played around in the quarry until the sun sank and the new moon left the world dark. Then, they gathered up their clothes and piled back into Mike’s truck. Bill and Stan sat up front with Mike, because <em>fuck you, Richie, it’s our turn</em>, so Richie helped Eddie over the tailgate into the bed. They settled against the back glass and against each other, to Richie’s absolute delight. The water and lost sun and wind as the truck set forward struck a shiver through Eddie so violent that Richie felt it in his bones just sitting beside him. </p><p>“Cold?” Richie asked. It really was chilly, even though it was the middle of August. Eddie cut him a glare, hugging his arms around his middle. </p><p>“No shit,” Eddie bit out, then scooted closer to Richie. Richie’s heart slammed, but he ignored it in favor of lifting one of his arms and wrapping it around Eddie. Eddie shoved ever closer and<em> nuzzled</em>. Richie swallowed. </p><p>The stars were bright and wind loud as Mike drove them away from the quarry. Eddie was warm against his side—a goddamn space heater with a cold-ass nose—and Richie felt…he felt content. The nasty <em>yet</em> was still hissing at him, but Mike had at least convinced him that Eddie deserved to make his own decisions about whether or not he was worth losing. </p><p>He just had to work up the nerve to tell him he <em>would</em> lose him. </p><p>Richie tightened his grip and was rewarded by Eddie’s arms snaking out around his waist. They breathed in each other’s warmth in silence, Eddie pushing up slowly into the hollow of Richie's throat, Richie wondering why having Eddie's cold-ass nose pressed against him felt like the only thing in the world that mattered.</p><p>Then, because he was feeling soft and because everything he was feeling made him scared, Richie shifted his shoulders forward so that his sternum creaked right under Eddie’s ear, and Eddie ripped away with a particularly heinous screech. He slapped Richie’s chest—goddamn, fucking fearless, like Richie wouldn’t crumble at the assault—with his mouth already set in an adorable scowl. </p><p>Richie thought he might be a little in love. </p><p>“Fucking unbelievable!” Eddie yelled over the whipping wind, ignoring Richie’s dazed look as the thought he’d had settled around him. He was in love with Eddie. </p><p>The wind had Eddie’s hair careening out around his head, snapping back and forth across his forehead. The streetlights overhead blinked him in and out of a golden light. </p><p>Richie was in love with Eddie. </p><p>He sat there against Mike’s back glass, staring with what he knew was probably a fucking <em>stupid</em> grin on his face while Eddie bitched about grating bones and sickening sounds. </p><p>“Okay!” Richie croaked finally, holding his arms wide. “Get back over here. I’m cold as shit!” </p><p>On the outside, yeah, the quarry water left him freezing. But inside, he was <em>warm</em>. He was In Love with Eddie. Eddie scowled at him for another moment, then shivered.</p><p>“Fine,” he grumbled, falling back into Richie’s chest. His arms wound around Richie again, the cast scratching something terrible at his hip but entirely forgotten when Eddie’s ice-cold nose landed once again in the curve of his neck. Richie yelped to cover how warm that dumb nose made him feel. </p><p>“Shut up,” Eddie said against Richie’s neck, burrowing in for warmth and effectively kicking Richie’s brain offline.</p><p>He just held him close, existing entirely in the small puffs of air Eddie was pushing out against his collarbone. </p><p>Unfortunately, it didn't take long for his brain to start back up with a vengeance. He had to tell him. He had to let him know exactly what he was getting into. He had to know if Eddie even knew he <em>was</em> getting into something, if he knew how Richie felt about him. Maybe not the all-the-way-in-love part, but at least the I-wanna-kiss-your-dumb-beautiful-face-every-moment-of-every-day part.</p><p>He swallowed. </p><p>“Eddie, I,” he started, but Mike pressed gently on the brakes, and they slid against the curb of a house on Munroe, a big tree in the yard. Eddie’s house. Eddie pulled away from Richie and glanced back at it.</p><p>“This is me,” he said. If Richie didn’t know better, he’d say he sounded a little sad. Richie swallowed again, nodded. “Were you about to say something?” Eddie asked. </p><p>Richie took half a second to panic, then smiled, shaking his head. </p><p>“I was just going to tell you that I decided to do my senior year at Derry High, after all,” Richie said, the first thing that came to mind. But where <em>the fuck</em> it had come from? That was absolutely beyond Richie. </p><p>Well, he <em>had</em> sort of been thinking about it. It seemed like the most logical way to spend as much time with Eddie as humanly possible, but still. It was mostly idle fantasy. He didn’t even know if his stupid heart could handle going back to a real school. He certainly didn’t know if his stupid heart could handle the hopeful, excited way Eddie was looking at him right then. </p><p>It gave a terrible stuttering kick, and Richie decided that it probably <em>couldn’t</em> handle it, but if he died at the hands of Eddie’s beautiful face, he’d consider himself lucky. </p><p>“Really?” Eddie asked. A smile was hovering around his lips, his dimple barely emerging. Richie was so, so fucking gone. He was in love. And maybe that wouldn’t matter at all, in the end, the ache so sweet and delicious that loving Eddie made Richie feel, but it mattered then. It felt like the only thing that mattered.</p><p>“Yeah,” Richie breathed, matching Eddie’s smile. Fuck, of course, he’d go back to school. Anything to keep that smile on Eddie’s face. </p><p>“That’s awesome, Rich. I can’t wait. Maybe we’ll have some classes together!” Eddie was practically bouncing where he sat next to Richie on the cold of Mike’s truck bed. </p><p>“I could tutor you,” Richie said. He winked, and Eddie rolled his eyes. </p><p>“In your dreams,” he said. Then, he pushed himself to his feet and jumped over the side of the truck. He was significantly shorter than Richie then, but he leaned his arms across the lip of the bed anyway, smiling up at Richie. “I’ll see you, Rich,” he murmured. And just like that, he turned, waving a quick goodbye to the guys in the front, and jogged to his front door. Richie let his head thump back against the glass with a groan. </p><p>He was in love with Eddie Kaspbrak. </p><p>Once Mike dropped Bill and Stan off at their respective houses, Richie groaned his way into the front seat. </p><p>“What’s your deal?” Mike asked, and even though he clearly was <em>not</em> talking about the way Richie wrenched the heat on and shivered, Richie pointedly ignored that.</p><p>“Fuckin’ cold back there,” Richie said. Mike rolled his eyes. </p><p>Richie was going to leave it. He really was. But then, he’s Richie Tozier, so he really couldn’t. </p><p>“I’m in love with him,” he groaned after about half a second. Mike raised his eyebrow, never looking away from the road.</p><p>“Congrats?” he said, uncertain, and Richie shook his head.</p><p>“Yeah, no, <em>congrats</em>, Mike, it’s all your fault.” </p><p>“Hey, now! I didn’t do anything!”</p><p>“Yes, you did! You made me confront my feelings for him, and now I’m in love, or whatever! And, <em>and</em> I’ve got to go back to fucking <em>high school</em>!” </p><p>“I hate to be the bearer of bad news here, but you can’t go <em>back</em> to a place you’ve never been,” Mike said. He raised the corner of his mouth into a sly grin. </p><p>“Really, Mike? Et tu, with the drop-out jokes?” </p><p>Mike just snorted. </p><p>“You don’t have to go,” he said with a shrug. </p><p>“Yes, I do. I told Eddie I would.” </p><p>“Do you want to?” </p><p>Richie considered this for a moment. He got kind of wiggly inside at the idea of running into Eddie in the halls, sitting next to him at lunch.</p><p>“Yeah,” he decided finally. All the other bullshit didn’t matter. Mike shrugged again. </p><p>“Well, then, we’ll get your truck running, teach you how to drive stick, and get you up to date on your shots.”</p><p>“God, you sound like Eddie,” Richie said, rolling his head towards the window. He stared forlornly out at the trees passing by in darkness. “I miss him,” he said pathetically. </p><p>“Jesus Christ,” Mike groaned. </p><p>“You should come with me,” Richie said suddenly. He turned back to Mike, fully intending to laser him with the full force of his puppy-dog gaze. Mike stared resolutely ahead. </p><p>“To high school? Fuck no,” he said. </p><p>“Come on! It’ll be fun!”</p><p>“It absolutely will not be <em>fun</em>, Richie,” Mike insisted, putting his blinker on to turn down Richie’s street. “I can think of a million things that would be more fun than starting school for the very first time as a senior.”</p><p>“You’ll already have friends,” Richie tried. He also tried the puppy-dog thing again, but Mike was having none of it.</p><p>“I’ll have you, and you’re sort of pushing it right now, to be frank.” Mike glanced at him, smiling a little to let Richie know he didn’t mean it. </p><p>“What about the others? Bill, Stan, Eddie?”</p><p>“I just met them today, Richie,” Mike answered, rolling his eyes. </p><p>“Okay, but think about all the other cute boys you'd meet! You could hop on the gay-Derry bandwagon!" Mike huffed and turned into Richie’s driveway. </p><p>“You do know that I am almost exclusively into women, right?” </p><p>“God, don’t remind me. You’ll always be the one that got away, Mikey.” Richie reached to pet Mike’s face, but Mike ducked.</p><p>“Get out,” he said, putting the truck in park. </p><p>“You’ll be by tomorrow, right?” Richie asked as he opened the door. </p><p>“I don’t know. Like I said, you’re pushing it, right now,” Mike said, his mouth quirking a bit at the corners. </p><p>Richie laughed and closed the door between them. Mikey would be by. Mikey always came through when it mattered. </p><p>“Hey, Rich,” Richie’s father said when he opened the door and toed out of his shoes. “You’re just in time for dinner.” Went was setting the table with careful precision. Richie, reckless and restless, had always admired that about his father. It kind of reminded him of Stan, actually. He squirreled the thought away for future Stanley-teasing and smiled at his dad. </p><p>“Smells good,” he said. </p><p>“Mom made chicken spaghetti,” Nicole said, shouldering her way into the dining area with a bowl of bread sticks. Richie groaned.</p><p>“Oh, Mr. Spaghettiman, why did you leave me?” </p><p>His family collectively chose to ignore his bemoaning.</p><p>“What sort of trouble did you get into today?” his father asked, laying a fork down just-so beside one of the three plates. </p><p>Richie had the sudden image of a fourth plate, Eddie laughing over his mom’s famous chicken spaghetti—the cannibal—then, he and Eddie making a dinner of their own, someday. Something warm spread through him. He was in love with Eddie. The <em>yet</em> seemed very far away. </p><p>“I went swimming with the boys,” Richie answered as he fell into one of the chairs. </p><p>“No wonder you smell like the sewers,” Nicole said, scowling. Richie stuck his tongue out at her.</p><p>“Go wash up,” his mother said, carrying in a large dish of chicken spaghetti. </p><p>Richie groaned but heaved himself back up. He needed all the brownie points he could get for when he told them he wanted to go back to school. </p><p>His plan to tell them went, well, about as well as he expected it would. </p><p>“No,” his father said immediately. He had set his fork down somewhere between Richie explaining that he felt like he was missing out on prime social development and saying, <em>you don’t want me to be one of those weird homeschool kids like Mikey, do you?</em></p><p>“Dad,” Richie started on half a groan. Went shook his head.</p><p>“I’m serious, Richie. There’s a reason we all decided you wouldn’t go to school.” </p><p>“I know, but that was years ago.”</p><p>“Hon,” his mother cut in, looking at him very seriously. “You <em>just</em> had another pretty big surgery. You’re not ready.”</p><p>“I may never be ready,” Richie said, locking eyes with her. Hers were hard. They matched his. “That’s just the truth of the matter. But for some stupid reason, I don’t want to miss out on high school.” </p><p>His mother looked away from Richie and towards Went. They shared a long, silent look, with Maggie chewing her lip and Went’s eye twitching a little. </p><p>“For what it’s worth,” Nicole cut in, her fork scraping shrilly against her plate. “I don’t personally think it’s fair that <em>I</em> have to suffer through high school but he doesn’t.” </p><p>Maggie tore her eyes away from Went to glare at Nicole, but Nicki just snickered into her green beans. Richie sometimes forgot how much he loved his sister.</p><p>“Do you really think you can handle it, Richie?” Went asked, turning to furrow his brows at Richie. </p><p>Richie shrugged.</p><p>“I think so.” </p><p>“Not good enough,” Maggie said, staring Richie down intently. </p><p>“What would you suggest then, Margaret?” </p><p>“Watch it,” Maggie warned, and Richie, though he may be dumb, was not stupid. He bit his tongue. </p><p>“How about this,” Went suggested. “Say, we just try the first quarter? And if we see, as a <em>family</em> that it’s too much for you, we go back to homeschooling.” </p><p>Richie’s breath caught. It wasn’t an ideal deal, but it was something. He nodded. He was going back to school. </p><p>Later that night, after he’d dried the dishes Nicole passed to him, he padded down the stairs to claim a midnight bowl of cereal and was surprised to see the light to his parents’ bedroom still on. He could hear their quiet voices drifting out, and he crept closer because he’s a nosy bitch like that. </p><p>“—scared for him, Went,” his mother was saying. </p><p>Richie almost turned and left right then. He’d made the mistake of listening in on his parents’ late-night conversations one too many times. Somehow, they were always talking about the ache of one day losing him, and it never failed to make him hurt all over. </p><p>“I know, Mags,” Went answered. There was a shuffle of feet and the creak of bed-springs. Went’s voice was suddenly muffled, and Richie could imagine them there, his mother spreading lotion down her arms, his father settling in beside her, face buried in the curve of her hip. </p><p>He was glad to know his parents still liked each other after all this time. The thought kind of hurt him, too. Made him jealous for a life of domesticity he would never get.</p><p>“But he’s right,” his father went on. “He deserves the chance to live a normal life.” </p><p>Maggie sighed, and the light flicked off under the door seam.</p><p>“You know he met a boy?” Maggie asked, and Richie flushed all the way down to his toes. If he didn’t want to talk about boys with his <em>mother</em>, he sure as shit didn’t want to talk about boys with his <em>father</em>?? And the idea of his mother talking about Richie’s boy (or lack thereof, fuck) <em>to</em> his father kind of made him want to explode right on the spot. He almost backed away from sheer horror, then, but also, he wanted to know what she thought of him.</p><p>There was the whole teenage-angst-bullshit like, <em>fuck you, Mom, I’ll date anyone I want,</em> but also, Richie loved his mom. (And apparently, now he loved Eddie too, which, like, terrifying.) He wanted her to like Eddie. </p><p>“Hmm,” Went hummed, still muffled, so Richie had to strain to hear. “Is that what this is about?” </p><p>“I think so. It’s sweet, actually, him wanting to go back to high school just to spend time with Eddie.” </p><p>Richie swore if Went made a drop-out joke, he would kick down the door and hysterically sob at them both. Went didn’t. </p><p>“Eddie? Is that Sonia Kaspbrak’s son?” </p><p>“Oh, right. He said his last name was Kaspbrak. God, I didn’t even recognize her at the hospital.”</p><p>“Poor kid,” Went hummed, and Richie nodded, remembering the horror stories Eddie'd told about his mother. “I’m sure she’ll have something to say about Rich.” </p><p>Dread spiked through Richie immediately. Honestly, he hadn’t even thought about the parental repercussions of loving Eddie. Sonia Kaspbrak would have a <em>fit</em>. On top of the dread, Richie felt suddenly guilty. </p><p>“Richie’s tough,” Maggie said. Their bed-springs creaked again, like she was settling in beside her husband. “And Eddie seems good for him. You should have seen the way he teased Rich. Plucked his glasses off his face and everything.” </p><p>“Sounds kind of mean.” </p><p>“Oh, no, Richie was eating it up.” Richie went hot again. He crept away from the door, finally deciding he’d heard enough. He also decided he liked what his mom had to say about him and Eddie. </p><p>He made his cereal in silence and fell asleep with the bowl empty on his bedside table. </p><p>The next morning, Mike was in his garage before Richie had even sucked down a full cup of coffee. He made his way out, grumpy and half-awake.</p><p>“You want coffee?” he called from the porch, one of his socks flopping off the heel of his foot. </p><p>“Yep,” Mike answered, his head buried under the hood. </p><p>Richie grunted and turned back inside. He made Mike a fresh cup and topped off his own, pouring a metric fuck-ton of sugar and milk into both. </p><p>“Thanks,” Mike said when Richie handed it to him. Then, he made a face of utter horror. “What the fuck is this?”</p><p>“It’s coffee. Don’t be ungrateful,” Richie grumbled, heaving himself up on a wheezing deep freezer and pushing his hand through his matted hair. </p><p>“It tastes like I’m drinking a donut,” Mike answered flatly. </p><p>“You’re welcome,” Richie said. He took a sip of his own coffee, reveling—thank you, Mike—in the sugary deliciousness of his concoction. “How much longer on this thing?” Richie asked after a while of slurping in silence. He half-expected Mike to give him hell about being so quiet, but Richie was nothing if not extraordinarily <em>not</em> a morning person. </p><p>“I’m not sure, really,” Mike answered, then grunted his way into a screw loosening. “A couple weeks, maybe? It depends.” </p><p>“But it’ll be ready in time for school?” Richie asked. Mike paused and looked up at him.</p><p>“You were serious about that?” he asked.</p><p>“Fuck yeah, I was serious,” Richie answered, then took another grateful sip of his coffee. He would be dead if it weren’t for coffee.</p><p>Well, and, you know, modern medicine. </p><p>“Shit, Rich,” Mike said, still staring at him. </p><p>“I was serious about you going with me, too. I mean, if you want. It would be nice to have you there.” </p><p>Mike nodded. </p><p>“I’ll think about it,” he said. “But for now, get over here and help me. You’ve got to at least <em>look</em> like you know what you’re doing.” </p><p>Richie groaned into his coffee mug, but he followed Mike’s directions anyway. Mike, as it turned out, was a very good teacher. By the time his stomach started growling for some empanadas, Richie found he actually kind of understood a little more than the day before. He told Mike as much with a congratulatory clap to the shoulder, but Mike shook it off.</p><p>“You’re smart, Richie. I literally just told you what was going on,” he said, and Richie felt his cheeks go hot. He tried to think up a joke, but Mike had a way of sucking all the humor in him inside out and forcing him to be genuine.</p><p>“Thanks,” Richie said, casting his eyes back towards his long-cold coffee. “You hungry?” Richie asked after a moment of them standing in silence. Mike groaned. </p><p>“God, yes.” </p><p>They had empanadas.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Probably a better summary for this chapter would have been, "In which Eddie's low-key assault makes Richie <em>feel</em> things", but yanno...</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Richie has terrible timing for calling Eddie “baby”.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tw: slurs, (attempted) homophobic violence, internalized homophobia</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div>
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    <em>August ‘93</em>
 
</p>
</div><p>Another week passed before Eddie saw Richie again. The white cast on his arm had yellowed in places, in ways that Eddie didn’t even want to <em>think</em> about, but nothing dirtied it up quite like Eddie struggling to put the new chain on his bike.</p><p>Fuck it, he thought once it was on, coasting down Main Street with bike oil all over him. He didn’t even care. He only had one more week with the cast, his chain had <em>finally</em> come in, the sky was blue, and he was going to see Richie. </p><p>Richie was exactly where Eddie expected him to be once he’d braked into the driveway: the garage. He’d said over the phone that he and Mike had been spending nearly every day working to get that truck ready, and fuck, Eddie hoped it would be by the time school started. He couldn't stomach the thought of Sonia dropping him off carpool for his senior year. </p><p>“Hey, dipshit,” Eddie called with a grin, letting his bike fall to the grass as soon as he was off it. Richie jumped so hard he smacked the back of his head on the open hood of the truck. Eddie snickered.</p><p>“You’re cute, Eds, but that wasn’t,” Richie said, turning and rubbing the knot on his skull with an unconvincing glare. </p><p>“Not my fault you spook like a horse,” Eddie said, feeling like his whole body was winding up to take flight. He stepped into the garage with Richie, the soft radio filling the air in the same way the smell of coffee and gasoline did. Richie’s grin grew.</p><p>“That’s not the only horse-like feature of mine,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows behind his smudged glasses. Eddie plucked them off his face, sort of in an attempt to hide the heinous blush working his way through his limbs at Richie’s innuendo and sort of in an attempt to make Richie Tozier a little less fucking gross, both in the conventional and conversational sense. Whatever good that would do.</p><p>“Beep beep,” he grumbled over the sound of Richie’s blind protests. Eddie scrubbed the lenses with the hem of his shirt. </p><p>“Your mom wasn’t complaining,” Richie said. Eddie thought he was trying to look suave, but mostly, with the way he was squinting, he just looked fucking stupid.</p><p>“You look fucking stupid,” Eddie told him, grinning, because he knew Richie couldn’t see. </p><p>“And you look like a big smudge, Mr. Spaghetti,” Richie answered brightly. </p><p>“So, literally exactly the same as fifteen seconds ago? Your glasses are fucking filthy.” Eddie scrubbed a little harder at a particularly stubborn fleck of motor grease, and it gave way. </p><p>“Aww, are you cleaning my glasses, Eds?” Richie crooned. He groped blindly towards Eddie, and Eddie stepped away. </p><p>“No, I’m spitting on them.” He hocked, just for good measure, but Richie just shrugged.</p><p>“Hey, I’ll take a little spaghetti sauce anyway I can get it.” </p><p>Eddie blanched to his very core. </p><p>“I hate you.”</p><p>“You wish, Kaspbrak,” Richie answered. He flashed Eddie a grin, still squinting, and because Eddie still had his glasses held captive, he felt okay to revel in it for just a moment. He squirreled the image away, filed under Richie-Tozier-makes-my-dumb-heart-do-dumb-shit, and handed Richie his glasses back. </p><p>“How’s it coming?” Eddie asked, willing the blush on his face somewhere far, far away. He should have known it was a lost cause, with Richie.</p><p>“With you in those shorts?” Richie asked, his newly uninhibited vision skirting down the not-very-much length of Eddie’s shorts. “Quickly, my dude.” </p><p>Eddie felt himself burn a shade of red previously thought unreachable, and he spluttered.</p><p>“God, good to see you’re feeling particularly disgusting today,” he said. He tried to look revolted (and made a mental note to definitely wear the shorts again). Richie just laughed. </p><p>“I am, actually. I feel really good,” he said, still grinning down at Eddie.</p><p>“Yeah?” Eddie asked. He let himself smile back at Richie a little. </p><p>“Yeah. I’m, fuck, I’m fucking excited for school, man. It’s been like six years since I’ve been to an actual school with my actual friends.” </p><p>“Well, you’ve just got two more weeks.” </p><p>“I know. I hope I can make it that long.” Richie’s easy smile went suddenly lopsided, then a giggle pushed up through him. “Fuck, I didn’t mean…” He trailed off at Eddie’s quizzical look. “Never mind,” he said, waving a hand by his head. “To what do I owe this great pleasure, Spaghedward?” </p><p>“I think I may hate that one the very most,” Eddie said matter-of-factly. Richie’s grin redoubled. </p><p>“It stays.” </p><p>Eddie suddenly remembered their first night in the hospital together. God, it seemed so long ago. It felt like the whole world had shifted since then, when really, the only thing that had changed was the development (and acceptance) of his frankly massive crush on Richie Tozier. For whatever fucking reason.</p><p>“I got my bike fixed,” Eddie said, when he could remember what they had originally been talking about. Richie leaned around Eddie to peep the bike, laying, admittedly, not all that proudly in the grass.</p><p>“So you did,” Richie agreed, smiling. A breeze pushed through the open garage doors and lifted the corner of Richie’s unbuttoned flannel. It was horrendously printed with orange slices and cream bottles, layered over a dark t-shirt that said, <em>lose it or move it, cakecup</em>, and the whole thing was so terribly <em>Richie</em> that Eddie wanted to kiss him, right there in Richie’s hot garage with all of their shared vehicular grease. </p><p>“Do you want to go somewhere?” Eddie blurted, just to keep from leaping forward. His stomach clenched angrily at the redirection. </p><p>“Sure,” Richie said. His smile went soft around the edges, like he’d been reading Eddie’s thoughts. Eddie felt heat rise up his neck. </p><p>“Alright,” he said. He waited for Richie to move, but Richie didn’t. He just raised his eyebrows at Eddie and pulled a little teasing into his grin. </p><p>“You want to lead the way? Or like, clue me in so I can?” Richie asked finally, and Eddie blinked. </p><p>“Uh,” he started. Honestly, he hadn’t thought about it. He’d been very focused on doing anything <em>but</em> kissing Richie in that moment. Which, in hindsight, had been a very regrettable decision on his part. He <em>really</em> wanted to kiss Richie, and the battle to not do so was a losing one, every second they spent together. “The arcade?” he suggested after a moment. With the way Richie’s eyes lit up, he knew he’d made the right suggestion. </p><p>“A man after my own heart,” Richie said, folding his hands together by his chest and batting his eyes. Eddie groaned and turned away. Richie was tight on his heels, cackling. </p><p>They spent the afternoon in the arcade, bickering at top volume over Street Fighter and Dig Dug and other video game consoles that hadn’t been washed, probably, ever. It was literally the least romantic thing Eddie could have possibly imagined, save for maybe the vomit-thing they’d sworn never to speak of again, and Eddie easily spent every second of it fighting the urge to haul Richie to him by the lapels of that ridiculous, <em>horrible</em> flannel. He stood a little too close to Richie as he fought for the Galaga high score, trying to remember why he was even <em>fighting</em> the urge. </p><p>Then, life, as it tends to do, reminded him very abruptly. Henry Bowers and his crew pushed out from the back, shoving kids to the side and sneering. Eddie went stone-cold rigid beside Richie. </p><p>“Oh, fuck you!” Richie called at the game. He was slamming the shooter at rapid-fire, entirely oblivious to all the air being sucked out of the room as Bowers made his way ever closer.</p><p>“Richie,” Eddie hissed, his head dipped close. Richie didn’t look up, just maneuvered the joystick with frantic motions. “Richie,” he hissed again, glancing back at Bowers. He was hustling some kid for his quarters, at the moment, but the kid looked horrified. It wouldn’t take long. Eddie elbowed Richie.</p><p>“Hang on, Eddie, baby, I’m on a roll,” Richie answered, a little too loudly. A Trashmouth specialty. Eddie felt the blood drain out of his face. </p><p>“<em>Baby</em>,” Bowers sneered, tossing the boy he’d been harassing away from him. Eddie felt Richie go taut beside him, even as he continued to hammer away at the video game. Eddie stepped backward, like the chicken-shit he was. Henry locked his eyes on Richie. “Shoulda known it was Tozier fagging up the town," Bowers spat. "The only way you could get more queer is if you were sucking a cock right now." </p><p>Only Eddie flinched. Richie didn’t look up from his game, even as Eddie heard the breath fall out of him.</p><p>“Sorry, Bowers, I’m not really taking requests at the moment,” Richie answered, still not looking up. Eddie’s eyes snapped over to him, horrified. Richie glanced over at him, but there was no fear in his eyes, only sadness. </p><p>“The <em>fuck</em> did you just say to me?” Henry sneered. Eddie’s heart slammed. Then, Bowers was ripping Richie away from the game by the back of his shirt. “I’m fucking talking to you, faggot,” he yelled, shaking Richie. </p><p>Eddie flinched. Richie jerked away from Henry, smoothing down the flannel. It really was a terrible flannel, and Richie looked pissed. He was scrawny, but tall. Taller than Bowers, for sure, and probably faster, if he’d just shut his fucking mouth and run. But this was Richie. He didn’t know <em>how</em> to shut his fucking mouth.</p><p>“Then say it, don’t spray it, Jesus,” Richie sniped. He swiped a finger across the lens of his glasses as though he were wiping away spit. Bowers seemed to vibrate in rage.</p><p>“Give me more of those pills, and I won’t bash your homo brains in,” Henry said lowly. Richie’s eyes narrowed.</p><p>“Not on your fucking life,” he answered, totally sure. Henry straightened his posture suddenly. </p><p>“Fine,” he said, taking a step back. </p><p>Eddie had just started an exhale of relief, when suddenly, Bowers was lunging for him, snapping him forward by the collar of his polo shirt. The breath left him in a squeak. </p><p>“Give me more of those pills, and I won’t bash <em>his</em> homo brains in,” Bowers said, motioning towards Eddie. Eddie’s eyes raced to Richie, heart slamming out of his chest. He didn’t want Richie to do it. He also didn’t want to get his “homo brains” “bashed in”. Richie considered the pair of them with a hard gaze for a long while.</p><p>“You won’t do it,” Richie concluded finally, turning his gaze back to Henry. Eddie felt the fingers brushing his throat tighten.</p><p>“Fucking try me.”</p><p>“If you were going to do something, you’d have done it already, Bowers. There’s a million people in here, and you and I both know your parolee wouldn’t endorse beating the brains out of anyone around witnesses.” Richie sounded so sure of himself and Bowers sounded so frustrated in his grunts that Eddie almost believed Richie had gotten them off the hook. Then, again, Richie opened his fucking mouth. “Homo or not,” he added, winking at Bowers because apparently, he <em>lived</em> to piss off the literal only person he shouldn’t piss off in any given instance. </p><p>Bowers dropped his grip on Eddie all at once, just long enough to rear back and swing for Richie. Richie, still pressed against the wall, ducked down at the last second, and Bowers’ fist connected squarely with the cinder block. A sickening crunch filled the room, sounding so familiar to Eddie that it made his own arm ache, before Richie was grabbing him by the wrist and hauling ass. </p><p>“Run, run!” he was urging, bursting through the doors to the arcade and around to the corner where they’d left their bikes. Eddie’s heart was slamming so hard he could barely hear the howl of Bowers and his gang, just one long radio static of fear. He was so terrified, he thought he might slip into a full-on panic attack. He wanted his inhaler, but the need to get the fuck away right fucking then was too great. He raced just behind Richie, cutting down alleyways and dirt paths until there was nothing around them but silence and their own puffing breaths. </p><p>They’d left the town behind them a while ago and were now crunching down a field-lined gravel road. Richie stopped abruptly, planting his feet down on either side of his bike and bringing a hand to his chest. </p><p>“Fuck,” he gasped, clenching his eyes closed. Eddie stopped beside him, adrenaline making his worry bubble up and over. He grappled for the inhaler in his fanny pack, took one hit, then another, and shoved his bike away. His hand found an immediate resting place on Richie’s back, and the other pushed through the curls on the nape of his neck.</p><p>“You okay?” he asked, his eyes scraping frantically over him for any sign of hurt. Other than Richie clutching his chest and grimacing, he couldn’t see any.</p><p>“Fuck, that was stupid,” Richie groaned. He fell forward on his handlebars, cushioning his forehead on his forearms. </p><p>“No fucking kidding, dipshit!” Eddie shot. His hand clenched into the fabric of Richie’s shirt. He saw, all at once, that Bowers had ripped the collar of the much beloved and much hated flannel. Eddie smoothed his fingers down against the harshness, then pulled away all together when he remembered why it had fucking happened in the first place. Richie had called him <em>baby</em>, right there in public. “What the fuck were you thinking?!” Eddie hissed. He grappled for the inhaler again. He knew, objectively, he didn’t need it, but it calmed him a little anyway. Richie lifted his head to peek at Eddie, a deep frown set into his lips. </p><p>“I don’t know if you noticed, but he let <em>you</em> go to try and punch <em>me</em>,” Richie answered curtly. He straightened up all the way, then groaned again, his hand coming back to rest over his chest. “I need to lie down,” he said. He forced his way up and off his bike, letting it crash into the roadside with Eddie’s. Then, he dragged himself up the wooden fence lining the field and fell into the overgrown grass on the other side. He sprawled out in it almost immediately, groaning all the while. Eddie glared at him from the graveled side of the fence. </p><p>“That’s not what I’m fucking talking about,” he ground out. Richie didn’t bother raising his head to look at Eddie, just huffed.</p><p>“Then what <em>are</em> you talking about?” </p><p>“You called me <em>baby</em>,” Eddie said. His voice was low and sharp, as though the cows wandering far behind Richie would hear and tell. Richie didn’t move for a long while, long enough that Eddie was almost worried about him. Almost. If he weren’t so pissed at him. </p><p>“You’re right,” he said finally. Eddie let out a breath of relief. It was short-lived when he heard the sour light in Richie’s voice. “That whole fucking thing was totally <em>my</em> fault. Bowers deciding he wanted to beat the shit out of us? My bad! Sorry!” </p><p>“Richie,” Eddie huffed, glaring. Richie sat up on his elbows to fix him with an equally sharp look. There was grass in his hair, which sort of undermined him and also sort of made Eddie want to run his hands through it again. </p><p>“What, Eddie? I don’t know what you want from me, here,” Richie snapped, flipping his palms out and up. </p><p>“You really can’t see why I’m frustrated?” Eddie asked, crossing his arms. Richie glared at him for a long moment, his brow furrowed. Then, he sighed. </p><p>“I see. I just…I can’t do anything about it. I am what I am. You are what you are. People are always going to have shit to say about it.” </p><p>“Yeah, but you could…” Eddie trailed off, chewing his lip. A wry smile crept across Richie’s face. </p><p>“Hide it?” Richie asked. He practically spat the words. </p><p>“I didn’t say that.” </p><p>“I’m too <em>flamboyant</em> for you, Eds? Is that it?” </p><p>“I didn’t say that, Richie. Stop putting words in my mouth!” </p><p>Richie stared at Eddie a moment longer, then settled back down in the grass. </p><p>“I’m really just not up for this right now,” he said after a long while, so low that Eddie almost didn’t hear. </p><p>“Richie.”</p><p>“Really, you should just go.” </p><p>Eddie’s lip wobbled. He didn’t want to leave Richie there, lying in the overgrown grass with his hand pressed over his heart, like something was wrong. </p><p>“Are you okay?” he asked again, softer. Richie didn’t look over at him.</p><p>“I’m fine,” he said. “I’ll see you at school or something.” </p><p>Eddie’s heart dive-bombed out of his chest. School was two weeks away. </p><p>“Richie,” Eddie said again. It sounded like something of a whimper, something begging. Richie shook his head resolutely from the grass and clenched his eyes closed. </p><p>“I can’t fucking do this. It <em>hurts</em>.” His hand clutched at the <em>lose it or move it, cakecup</em>. Eddie’s heart rattled in his chest. </p><p>“Do what?” Eddie whispered. He felt like Richie had lost him somewhere along the way, like there was some giant barrier standing between them that Eddie couldn’t even see, something bigger than Eddie being afraid to get the shit beat out of him by Henry Bowers. All he could do was stare at him from the other side of the fence. </p><p>“See, you can’t even say it,” Richie said, still shaking his head with that look of <em>hurt</em> on his face. “I’ll see you at school, Eddie.” </p><p>Eddie. Not Eds. Not Spaghedward. <em>Eddie.</em> Flat and plain. </p><p>Eddie picked his bike up and pushed it away, telling himself he wouldn’t fucking lose it. </p><p>He made it almost all the way home before he completely failed. He raced up the stairs to his room feeling like his body was on full-panic mode, choking for breath for a long while. When he finally calmed down enough to see straight, he laid in bed, staring at the ceiling for a long time. His mother came up to say dinner was done, but he didn’t move. </p><p>Six o’clock rolled around. Seven. Richie had a habit of calling at seven-thirty on the dot. Eight o’clock came. Nine. God, they weren’t even <em>together</em>. Why the fuck did it hurt so bad when Richie said he didn’t want to see him? Why did it ache like someone had ripped him open? </p><p>Eddie fell into a restless sleep around midnight. Every time the house shifted or dogs barked next door, he bolted awake, thinking Richie was calling, thinking Richie was knocking at his window, thinking Richie, Richie, Richie. Every time, he fell back into bed, crushed all over again. </p><p>Days and days passed just like that. He tried to spend time with his friends, the way he had <em>before</em>. But he knew he was a drag. Bill and Stan were <em>together</em> now, and Eddie was just fucking sad all the time. </p><p>He barely found any joy at all in the doctor finally shearing that godforsaken cast off him. All he wanted to do was show Richie, but Richie never answered when Eddie called anymore. Eddie tried not to think about it as his mom drove him home from the orthopedic office in silence. He could tell by the haughty air in the car that she was glad he’d gone and gotten dumped, even if that wasn't really what happened, even if she didn’t <em>know</em> that was what had happened, just glad he didn’t want to leave the house. </p><p>He kept replaying the fight in his head over and over. </p><p><em>What the fuck were you thinking?!</em> his own voice echoed as he tried to sleep at night. <em>You called me ‘baby’.</em> </p><p>Then Richie’s voice, sounding so tired it nearly killed Eddie, <em>I can’t do anything about it. I am what I am. You are what you are.</em></p><p>The words jumbled, danced around out of order until it was nothing but the sound of Richie, angry and exhausted and <em>hurt</em>. Eddie felt like shit twice-warmed-over. </p><p>He didn’t think he was altogether <em>wrong</em>, and he didn’t think it was altogether fair that Richie just gave up on him, but he also knew that he cared about Richie. And he knew, hope upon hope, that Richie cared about him, too, whatever bullshit they were going through at the moment. </p><p>When it came time for school to start back, Eddie spent the night before pacing a hole into his bedroom carpet. Sonia had come up twice to ask him what was wrong, and he’d promptly shut her down both times. She was one of the main reasons he was dreading the next day. He really, <em>really</em> didn’t want to show up in her front seat. </p><p>Eddie resolved to try Richie’s phone again. He dialed the number he’d long since committed to memory and listened to the tone, not really expecting an answer. Then, Maggie Tozier’s voice was filling his ear. </p><p>“Hello?” she asked brightly. Eddie sat up straight on the edge of his bed.</p><p>“Oh, uh. Hi, Mrs. Tozier. It’s, uh…It’s Eddie Kaspbrak.” He sat listening to her breathing. “Again,” he added dully. </p><p>“Hi, Eddie,” she said. He thought, or maybe it was just his imagination, that she sounded a little sad.</p><p>“Let me guess,” Eddie started, fighting to keep his voice level. He pinched the bridge of his nose, not that that did anything for him. “Richie’s asleep?” </p><p>“Sorry, sweetie,” Mrs. Tozier said. Eddie was just about to hang up and resign himself to that fact that Richie wouldn’t want to talk to him, maybe ever again, when he heard the barest breath of Richie’s voice on the other end. </p><p>“Is that him?” he asked, and Eddie felt himself go cold. </p><p>“He doesn’t have to talk to me if he doesn’t want,” Eddie hurried to tell Richie’s mom, but it was Richie’s voice that answered, loud and clear. </p><p>“I wouldn’t have taken the phone if I didn’t want to talk to you,” he said. He didn’t sound angry, just, kind of tentative. Eddie’s heart slammed all the same. It had been nearly two weeks since he’d heard any version of Richie’s voice other than the one constantly swirling through his head. He greatly preferred the real thing, even the wholly-alien timbre of Richie being tentative. </p><p>A million thoughts raced through his mind. He wanted to apologize. He wanted to yell some more. He wanted to tell Richie how he hadn’t stopped thinking about him for a single second. </p><p>“I…” he started, the words choking him. Richie sat on the other end of the line, silent and waiting. </p><p>Eddie shook his head, even though Richie couldn't see. He had shut Eddie out, hadn’t answered his calls for two weeks. It was obvious he didn’t want to talk about whatever it was that was going on between them, so neither would Eddie. </p><p>“I was just calling to see if we were still carpooling tomorrow. It’s okay if not,” Eddie said, feeling like it very much wouldn’t be okay. “I just need to let my mom know.” </p><p>“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be there,” Richie answered. Eddie drew in a hesitant breath.</p><p>“You’re sure?”</p><p>“Of course,” Richie said. The longer he talked, the more he sounded like the Richie Eddie remembered. He thought he might cry. “We got the truck running yesterday, and I’ve been practicing the gear-shift. Everything looks good.” </p><p>“That’s great,” Eddie said. Something loud and horrible thrummed in his chest. He missed Richie like breath. A quiet moment passed. “It’s really good to hear your voice, Rich,” Eddie murmured. </p><p>“You too, Eddie,” Richie said after a long moment. It was <em>Eddie</em>, still, but it sounded different than that day in the grass. </p><p>“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked. He had to be sure. </p><p>“I’ll be there.” </p><p>“Bye, Richie.”</p><p>Eddie hardly slept after he got off the phone with Richie. In fact, he slept so little that when he finally dragged himself downstairs at a respectable time to be awake, his mother cast him a half-frenzied look as she poured her coffee.</p><p>“You look sick, Eddie-bear,” she said, setting down the mug and crossing to Eddie. Eddie pulled away from her with a grunt.</p><p>“Just tired.” </p><p>“You didn’t sleep?” she asked. Her hands were all over his face, checking for fever, checking for lumps. There was nothing, Eddie knew, except bags under his eyes. He’d stared at them for twenty minutes after he’d gotten out of the shower. The sun had barely come up when he’d given up on sleep and hauled himself to the bathroom. </p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Are you nervous for your big first day?”</p><p>“Mama, this is literally my thirteenth first day of school. Fourteenth if you count pre-K.” Sonia huffed but handed Eddie a plate of eggs and toast. He poked at it lifelessly. </p><p>“Whenever you’re ready, Eddie-bear, we’ll head out,” she said after a while of him pushing around his breakfast. He froze.</p><p>“I’m carpooling this year, remember?” Eddie said. Sonia didn’t look up from the morning newspaper. </p><p>“We didn’t agree on that, sweetie. I’ll take you like always.” She took an absent sip of her coffee, and it took everything in him not to jab his fork down into her hand. </p><p>“He’s already on his way,” Eddie ground out. At least, he <em>hoped</em> Richie was already on his way. “It would be rude to ask him to turn around and go back.” </p><p>Sonia finally looked up at him.</p><p>“Well, what am I supposed to do all day?” she asked, sounding genuinely affronted that he hadn’t thought of her feelings when offering to relieve her of a chore. Eddie took a steadying breath. He was running on much too little sleep and much too much anxiety to deal with his mother at that particular moment. </p><p>And, God, if Eddie had ever doubted the way he felt about Richie in the time that he’d known him, he’d never doubt it again after he heard the crunch of tires slowing on asphalt just outside of his front door. Eddie jumped up.</p><p>“Got to go, Mommy, love you!” he called, racing to the door and barely remembering to rip his backpack up before he was out and all but sprinting to Richie and into that rusty truck. “Go, go, go,” Eddie urged, slamming the door behind him. He wouldn’t consider himself home-free until they were at least two blocks away. </p><p>“Easy, Eds, she’s an old lady. She doesn’t have the get-up-and-go she once did,” Richie said, stroking the dash lovingly before pumping the clutch, shifting into gear, and pulling away. </p><p>Eddie, in his rush to be free of his mother, had almost entirely forgotten that he was climbing into the truck with <em>Richie</em>. </p><p>Richie, who he hadn’t seen in two weeks. Richie, who had pretty much dashed Eddie’s hopes on the rocks last time they’d seen each other. Richie, who smiled over at Eddie, looking so soft and so rumpled and so <em>Richie</em> that it made Eddie’s breath catch. Eddie stared at him probably a moment too long. </p><p>“Hey,” he said after a while. Richie glanced over at him with a small crook to his lips. </p><p>“Hi.” </p><p>Eddie’s stomach was taking dive after dive. He had told himself he wouldn’t talk about it, but he could feel the words bubbling up, grueling around in his throat, fighting for air. </p><p>“I’m sorry!” he burst, so loud in the relative quiet of their ride that Richie jumped. </p><p>“Jesus,” he hissed, knuckles going white on the steering wheel. “You scared the fuck out of me.” </p><p>“Like a horse,” Eddie said. He felt a little hysterical, like he might burst into laughter or tears with the turn of the wind. Richie cut him a small smile from the corner of his eye, which certainly didn’t help the situation. </p><p>“Listen, I wanted to talk to you about that, actually,” Richie said. His knuckles were still white on the wheel. </p><p>“You did?” Eddie asked skeptically. Richie hadn’t seemed to want to talk to him about much of anything, as of late. And now that he did? Eddie really wished he had his inhaler in his hand.</p><p>“Yeah. You were right. I shouldn’t have called you baby. That was out of line.” </p><p>Eddie stared open-mouthed at Richie's profile for a long moment. He could almost see his own heart falling out of the truck and rolling along on the asphalt behind them, cartoonish and juvenile and fucking painful.</p><p>“That really wasn’t the issue,” he murmured once he caught his breath. Richie went on like Eddie hadn’t said anything.</p><p>“It put you in a bad position, and I’m sorry.” Richie pulled his eyes away from the road to look at Eddie, and then he whispered, “We’re friends, right?” </p><p>And what was Eddie supposed to say to the way Richie was looking at him, all hopeful and hesitant and warm? Say no? But, God, he wanted to. He wanted to scream <em>no</em> at the top of his lungs. He didn’t want to just be Richie’s <em>friend</em>. </p><p>“Of course,” Eddie choked out finally. He even put on as close to a smile as he could muster, though he felt sure it was something closer to a grimace. Eddie turned his face towards the window, watched the little houses and little lives pass, and tried not to think about how close to drowning he felt.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm...sorry? </p><p>But also, thanks for hanging out this week! I just wanted to say that you're all incredible, and I love you guys so much&lt;33</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Richie asks for a date to keep a girl from crying.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>HI FRIENDS THIS HAS BEEN AN AWFUL WEEK I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH PLEASE ENJOY THIS BARELY EDITED CHAPTER I'M SO SORRY &lt;3</p><p>Please correct me if I'm wrong but no tw's this week (beyond gross pining).</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
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    <em>September ‘93</em>
 
</p>
</div><p>They were friends. Richie could do friends. Friends was better than the two weeks of radio silence that had just passed between them, though he knew he had no one but himself to blame for that.</p><p>His mom had been fielding calls from Eddie nearly since the moment Richie had hauled his ass up out of the grass and stumbled home. </p><p>He would have called him back, but out in that field, Bowers’ voice still echoing harsh in his ears, it was so suddenly clear to him that it was <em>his own fault</em> life was hard for Eddie. Richie was trying to make it easy on him. He knew that it—whatever they had—was hard for him, made him tense up and panic, and Richie really didn’t want that. Not to mention it was kind of pointless, in the whole grand scheme of Richie being destined to die young… He was just trying to make it easy, okay? </p><p>Plus, the thought of talking to him so soon after Eddie had not-really-but-kind-of said he would never be with Richie the way Richie so desperately wanted him to be, well, the thought made his chest ache like a fucking heart attack. </p><p>It was really for the best not to call him back. </p><p>Friends was better than the ache, too. </p><p>At least, that’s what he told himself. Friends kind of ached, too, in practice. Eddie just sat there, staring out of the window and chewing on his lip like he wanted to say something but couldn’t, or wouldn’t, like Richie didn’t know exactly what that felt like. </p><p>So, he just drove them in silence, trying to convince himself it didn’t matter at all that he was in love with Eddie. Friends was better. </p><p>“Oh!” he remembered suddenly. He plucked a thermos up out of one of the cupholders and offered it out to Eddie. “I forgot. I brought you coffee.” </p><p>Eddie took it from him with his brows furrowed. </p><p>“Thanks.”</p><p>“Might be kind of cold now,” Richie said with a shrug. “And fair warning, Mike always bitches that I put too much sugar in it, but ya boy likes the sweet stuff.” Eddie went very still in Richie’s peripherals, and when he glanced over at him, he was staring back with an unreadable, sad look on his face. </p><p>“Thanks, Rich,” he mumbled finally, then unscrewed the cap. </p><p>Richie shrugged again. He felt like he was fighting quicksand,  couldn’t get a foot on solid ground. </p><p>“No sweat.” </p><p>Eddie took a sip and scrunched his nose. </p><p>“This is…ridiculously sugary,” he said finally, and Richie swatted a hand at him.</p><p>“I warned you! Don’t make fun of me!” </p><p>Eddie let out a laugh, and for the first time in weeks, the world tipped a little less crooked.</p><p>“No, no, it’s just…” Eddie trailed off. His voice sounded sad, but he was smiling into the thermos. </p><p>“What?” Richie urged gently, and Eddie shook his head.</p><p>“This is just exactly what I thought you’d like,” he answered finally, glancing up at Richie through the dark lining of his lashes. Richie swallowed and turned back to the road. Friends might be better, but it was fucking difficult. </p><p>Richie parked as close to the school as could be allowed by first-day idiots not knowing how to drive. Richie guessed, technically, he was a first-day idiot himself, but he prided himself on being a good driver, even allowing for the fact that he’d never had his own vehicle before and that stick was tricky. </p><p>He wondered idly, as he pocketed the keys and stepped with Eddie through the throngs of people, what kind of driver Eddie would be. Then, Eddie jostled into a frankly terrified-looking freshman and yelled, “Hey, dickwad! Flow of traffic mean anything to you?!” So Richie didn’t really have to guess. Warmth filled him so fast it made his head swim, made it hard to ignore. </p><p>They found Bill and Stan leaning against Bill’s locker almost immediately. Richie had been sort of wandering aimlessly along, but Eddie was clutching the thermos, elbowing through like the best of them, leading the way. </p><p>“H-h-hey guys!” Bill said brightly over Stan’s shoulder, grinning. </p><p>“Christ, now I’ve got to deal with you during the school day, too?” Stan groaned once he saw Richie, one corner of his mouth quirking. Richie grinned back. </p><p>“Just couldn’t get enough of your sweet face, Staniel,” Richie said. </p><p>“Cock off. Also, how the fuck did you convince Mike to be here?” Stan asked, raising a fighting-to-look-unimpressed-but-clearly-very-impressed eyebrow as he locked eyes on something just over Richie’s shoulder. Richie blinked and spun around.</p><p>“Mikey?” he called, laying sight on Michael fucking Hanlon waltzing in, looking as beautiful and beef-cakey as ever. Richie laughed. “What the fuck, man? I didn’t know you were coming!” </p><p>Mike grinned as he fell in with their little circle. </p><p>“Yeah, well, I tried to tell you but you’ve been a little indisposed lately.” Mike probably thought he was slick with the way his eyes slid towards Eddie. He was not, and Richie rolled his eyes like he wasn’t running hot all over.</p><p>“It’s all good, right, Eds?” Richie asked, swaying into Eddie. Eddie blinked owlishly up at him, then over to Mike. </p><p>“Right,” he said and smiled a little. “I’m glad you’re here, Mike.” </p><p>“Now we’re just two shy of the whole gang,” Richie said. He made a big show of frowning dramatically, and every one of his friends gathered around turned to him with a confused look.</p><p>“W-w-who’s missing, Rich?” Bill asked, glancing around. </p><p>“Bev and Ben, of course!” </p><p>“Richie, you’re literally the only one that knows those people,” Stan said with a roll of his eyes. </p><p>“Not true! Eddie knows Bev,” Richie said, pointing. </p><p>“I mean, yeah, I guess,” Eddie answered with a shrug. </p><p>Richie sighed. He was trying to do a whole bit, but no one was giving him anything good to work with. Such is life sometimes. </p><p>“Whatever,” he said, giving up. “Where’s my class?” Richie thrust his smeared and smudged schedule into the center of their circle. </p><p>“Mine too,” Mike said. He shouldered off his backpack and dug around before pulling out a schedule. Eddie took Richie’s, and Bill took Mike’s. </p><p>“You’ve got first and second period with me,” Eddie said, squinting down at the paper. Richie’s heart gave a ridiculous lurch, doubly so when Eddie flicked that look upwards at him. “Holy shit, Richie. You’re in calc three?” </p><p>“I didn’t even know t-t-they taught calculus three here,” Bill said, glancing up from Mike’s schedule to give Richie an impressed stare. Richie shrugged. He definitely wasn’t going to mention that he’d done calc two after his surgery and had filled up pretty much every margin with doodles of <em>R+E</em> and <em>Eddie</em> with a little heart in the i. </p><p>“We’ve all got the same lunch period,” Stan said, peeking over Bill’s shoulder to see Mike’s schedule. “That’s good.”</p><p>“Yeah, last semester I got stuck eating lunch with Teary Claire,” Eddie said, grimacing.</p><p>“Claire’s nice,” Stan said.</p><p>“Plus, it’s j-j-just allergies. She’s not actually sad. O-o-or at least, I don’t think she is.” Bill frowned, considering. </p><p>“You’ll get wrinkles,” Stan murmured, reaching up and smoothing a finger down Bill’s forehead. Bill’s eyes crossed upward, as though he could see the touch, and something turned in Richie’s chest. He wanted to touch Eddie that easily…</p><p>Then, he had a thought. </p><p>Bowers had, by some miracle of divine intervention (or of teachers being really, <em>really</em> tired of him), managed to graduate a couple of years ago. School was, statistically speaking and discounting the less-psychotically-violent-but-still-annoying Bowers replacements, probably the safest place for Richie <em>to</em> touch Eddie. </p><p>And as quickly as the hope sprung up, he remembered that Eddie didn’t <em>want</em> to be touched. They were friends, and friends was better…</p><p>Richie sighed.</p><p>“Walk me to class, Eds?” he asked, tucking the schedule Eddie was still pouring over back into his pocket. </p><p>“Hey, I wasn’t done!” he said, that adorable little valley creasing up between his brows. Richie wanted to touch it like Stan had to Bill. Instead, he gave his friends a parting smile and turned down the hallway. Eddie was right on his heels. “Besides, we’re in that class <em>together</em>, dipshit.”</p><p>“To my unending joy,” Richie said, grinning down at the little ball of fury beside him. “Your point?”</p><p>“My point is that I can’t walk you to class if we have the <em>same</em> class,” Eddie answered, punctuated with a roll of his eyes.</p><p>“Then walk me to the first class we don’t have together.” </p><p>“I would, except you snatched your schedule away before I got a good look at it!” </p><p>Richie groaned, partly because he felt like that was the most logical response from someone arguing with Eddie and partly because friends was better, but it was so, so, <em>so</em> fucking difficult. </p><p>Eddie led him down a series of hallways that Richie really tried to memorize but then got bored of memorizing and instead just decided to follow along with Eddie, bickering about nothing. By the time they came to a classroom and settled into adjacent desks, Richie was struggling to remember what class he was even supposed to be in. He hadn’t given much input on his schedule when he’d gone to re-enroll, just trusted the guidance counselor to, well, guide him. </p><p>Based on the neat title scratched on the front board in yellow chalk, it was comparative literature, and it was going to be a long fucking semester. Then, Eddie pulled out a perfectly organized and labeled binder and started doing this adorable chewy-pencil thing, and Richie thought, fuck a long semester, it was going to be a long <em>hour</em>. </p><p>And it was. Richie could hardly remember anything once the bell rang other than the exact curve of Eddie’s ear—because he was <em>adamantly</em> not watching him chew the pencil. </p><p>The next class, they also shared, but it was a little better because Richie was fully ready to utilize Stanley as a buffer once he settled into the seat in front of Richie. Plus, it was a genetics class, and Richie liked genetics. Eddie, it seemed, not so much. They’d barely covered a Punnett Square, and already, he was glaring, frustrated. </p><p>After class, Richie gathered his things and watched as Eddie huffily shoved his perfect binder into his backpack.</p><p>“Hey, Eds,” Richie said, smiling. Eddie barely glanced up at him. Richie was about to reaffirm what had originally been a jesting offer to tutor Eddie, then thought better of it as Eddie jerked the zipper of his backpack closed. “You wouldn’t want to be my study buddy for this class, would you?” Richie asked instead. He tried his best to look sheepish, like he was struggling to understand the material, and while that wasn’t exactly true, it wasn’t all that difficult to pretend. Eddie made him feel kind of permanently sheepish. </p><p>“I don’t know how much help I’d be. It’s like fucking gibberish,” Eddie grumbled, slinging his backpack up onto his shoulder. </p><p>“We can help each other,” Richie answered with a shrug. Eddie considered him for a long moment, eyes narrowed. His lips pressed together, and Richie warmed. He knew Eddie was fighting a smile. </p><p>“Yeah, fine,” Eddie said, then left the room. Richie smiled after him. </p><p>“Walk me to class, Staniel?” Richie asked dreamily, then turned to find Stanley had abandoned him, too. He just saw the flash of his yarmulke dipping out of the door. “Stan,” Richie whined, hurrying after him.</p><p>“Shake a leg,” Stan answered over his shoulder. Richie nearly lost him in the swarm of students, but as much as Stan tried to pretend otherwise, he wouldn’t leave Richie. He deposited him safely in his calculus class and made a teasing, dramatic show of being the ultimate mother hen, asking Richie if he had enough lunch money and making sure he remembered important phone numbers. Richie snorted and found a seat. </p><p>Calculus was fine. Calculus was great. He could think in calculus, and after calculus, he managed to find his next class all by himself, saw that he shared it with Bill and Mike, and spent that class being able to actually think, too, without Eddie I’m-a-ball-of-fury-with-the-face-of-a-literal-angel Kaspbrak there to distract him. </p><p>He walked with Bill and Mike to the cafeteria after the bell rang, laughing the whole way. The humor in him shuddered when he saw Eddie again, his smile rolling soft then painful. Eddie was already sitting at a table with Stan, talking—though Richie couldn’t hear, he knew—a mile a minute with a sharp flurry of emphatic hand motions. </p><p>“You coming?” Mike asked, and Richie tore his eyes away from Eddie to see that Bill and Mike had claimed a spot in the lunch line. Richie was just about to answer when a hand grazed down his bicep. He jumped and wheeled around, half-expecting to see Eddie there, energy at full-take-down level. Instead, he was staring down at a shortish, plainish girl with a nice smile and watery eyes.</p><p>“Sorry,” she said, pulling her hand back and smiling. “I didn’t mean to scare you. You’re Richie Tozier, right?” Richie’s heart thudded nervously. He’d learned in his seventeen years on earth that it was never a good thing when strangers knew you by name. </p><p>“Er, yes?” Richie answered. He realized a beat too late that his voice lilting up in question made him sound like he wasn’t sure. He nodded firmly. “Yes,” he tried again. The girl let out an airy laugh, and Richie glanced back at his friends. Bill had an eyebrow raised at him and an amused smile. Mike was grimacing at the peas. </p><p>“You’re funny,” the girl said, drawing Richie’s eyes back to her.</p><p>“Thank you?” he said, still unsure. </p><p>“I’m Claire,” she said. Richie took in her watery eyes. Teary Claire, Richie thought, recognition snapping into his mind.</p><p>“Hi,” Richie said. </p><p>“So, listen. I know you’re new, but, uh, there’s sort of a dance happening next week, and I was wondering if you would want to go with me?” </p><p>Richie’s brain skidded. </p><p>“Oh,” he said. His eyes tore back to Eddie before he could help it, heart lurching painfully when he saw that Eddie was already frowning over at him. </p><p>Before their little tiff, Richie had sort of entertained the idea of asking Eddie to the dance. (And by sort of, Richie meant that he’d fallen asleep many a-nights fantasizing about what color suit Eddie might wear, and what kind of boutonierre Richie’d buy to match, and how Eddie would smile up at him on the dance floor.) </p><p>Claire was still staring at him, and, if Richie didn’t know better, he’d say she was getting even more teary. Fuck, what if she cried when he told her no?? </p><p>“Err…” Richie started. He was sweating.</p>
<hr/><p>“What the fuckballs was that?” Eddie hissed, twenty minutes later, when Richie had finally extracted himself from the Claire Situation and pressed through the line for his tasteless, baked chicken and mushy peas. The rest of their friend group had returned to the lunch-line for over-priced ice cream, so Richie turned to Eddie, alone, with wide eyes.</p><p>“Eds, I need you to go to the dance with me,” he blurted. There was a single, shocked moment of silence between them at their otherwise empty table. Then, Eddie was spewing chocolate milk out of his nose. He coughed and turned red and flicked his eyes back up to Richie, wide and panicked.</p><p>“What the fuck! No!” he said frantically. </p><p>“<em>Please,</em> Eddie?” Richie begged, bringing his hands up into a pleading motion. Eddie looked scared shitless, and Richie tried not to take it personally. He had a girl’s honor to protect. </p><p>“<em>Why?</em>” Eddie hissed. </p><p>“Because Teary Claire asked me! And I fucking panicked and told her I was seeing someone, and then, she started crying because men never want her, and I couldn’t just let her cry, man! So, I told her I was seeing someone and that that someone was a boy, and that’s why I didn’t want to go with her, and now I need to go with you so that she doesn’t cry again!” Richie sucked in a breath so hard that it hurt his knees, once the words finished pouring out. </p><p>It hadn’t taken long after Claire had asked him to realize that Bill was a fucking liar. She wasn’t just allergic, she was a <em>crier</em>. </p><p>And Richie…well, Richie was a softie. He hadn’t wanted her to cry. </p><p>“What the fuck?” Eddie breathed. Richie knew Eddie was full-on panicked because he still had little droplets of spewed-chocolate-milk clinging to his chin, and he wasn’t even wiping them away. </p><p>“Come on, Eddie. It could be fun. We’ll all go together, and you and me, we’ll just slow dance a couple times—” Richie swallowed “—so that she sees and doesn’t get her self-esteem shattered.” </p><p>Eddie stared at him, still incredulous, still very, very red.</p><p>“Why the fuck would I do that?” </p><p>“Because despite your assholery, you’re still a nice person?” Richie tried. That adorable, angry frown grew on Eddie’s face, and he swiped the milk off his chin. </p><p>“And what about the other ‘nice people’ in Derry, Rich? You’re really willing to get the shit beat out of you to protect some random girl’s high school self-esteem? You’re really willing to get the shit beat out of <em>me</em> for that?” </p><p>Richie felt something turn in him, sharp and hissing. God, this felt a whole fuck of a lot like the same argument they’d had in the grass that day. </p><p>“First,” Richie started, measuring his voice carefully. He didn’t want it to end like it had in the grass. He wanted Eddie in his life, even fucking stubborn as he was. “She’s a person. People deserve not to have their confidence destroyed by some idiot with buck-teeth and glasses. The bar is so low on that one. Second, Eddie…” Richie sighed and splayed his palms up on the table. “You’re going to have to do this someday,” Richie went on. He tried to say it gently, but still, Eddie’s eyes flashed in warning. Richie dropped his voice lower, and it circled around just between the two of them. “If you want to be with a man someday, you’re going to have to be with him, you know?” </p><p>“What are you saying?” Eddie ground out. He had his hands clenched into fists so tight that his knuckles were white and shaking. </p><p>“I’m saying that this could be a good opportunity for you. Take that gay life for a test drive.” Richie wanted to die at the idea of just being a test drive for Eddie, so he doubled down to cover how painful it was. “Get your feet wet, smell the bouquet. Practice for the real thing.”</p><p>“Practice?” Eddie repeated. His voice sounded flat and empty. </p><p>“At least then you’d know what to realistically expect,” Richie added lamely. He was hunched over his still-untouched cafeteria food, looking up at Eddie in a way he hoped wasn’t too pathetically hopeful. Eddie looked right back, his face unreadable as he considered. Richie took his resounding silence as Eddie trying to figure out a way to nicely tell Richie to back the fuck off, that he’d made it clear he didn’t want to be more than friends. Richie shook his head and dropped his eyes as the stent gave a shuddering sob in his chest. “Never mind. It was a stupid idea. I’ll ask Mike or something. I’m sure—”</p><p>“No,” Eddie said, cutting him off. Richie’s eyes lifted.</p><p>“No?”</p><p>“Don’t ask Mike. I’ll do it.” Eddie was glaring at him, his cheeks deliciously pink. This was the boy Richie was in love with. His heart rolled. </p><p>Fuck. </p><p>“You will?” Richie asked. He felt like Eddie had just knocked his knees out from under him, even though he was sitting down. Eddie rolled his eyes. </p><p>Bill, Stan, and Mike chose that moment to rejoin the table, each toting a chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry soft-serve, respectively. All Richie could do was stare at Eddie. They were going to the dance together. And as Bill slid into the seat beside Stan, soft and close, Richie felt the dread set in. They were going to the dance together, but it was all for the sake of Teary Claire. It wasn’t real. </p><p>He spent the rest of the day feeling like he was in quicksand again. </p><p>He shared another class with Mike and the last with Eddie. It was P.E., and Eddie, despite having a permanent doctor’s excuse, spent the first quarter of class screeching at the coach in favor of Richie, barely a month and a half post-op, <em>not</em> having to run laps. </p><p>“Christ, Kaspbrak, fine!” The coach relented finally, never looking at Richie, standing awkwardly in borrowed sweats a size too big for him and a questionably clean t-shirt. “But tell him he needs an <em>actual</em> doctor’s excuse by next class.” </p><p>Eddie grumbled away from the coach and led Richie to the bleachers. Autumn had made the day nice, and he tried to just…enjoy that and not think about what a fucking mess he’d gone and made. </p><p>“Fucking stupid, anyway,” Eddie said, glaring at the runners.</p><p>“P.E.?” Richie asked. </p><p>“Yeah. It’s a dumb, ableist requirement that does nothing but humiliate those who aren’t able.” A particularly jockly boy ran past, sneering at them, the only two who had opted out of the run other than the kid in a wheelchair who had his tires in the dirt anyway. “Those assholes think they’re so fucking cool just because I don’t run laps with them. Like, I’m literally on the cross-country team, you fucking cunt,” Eddie hissed. Richie blinked.</p><p>“You are?” It made sense—Eddie had thighs that Richie would literally kill or die for—but, and understandably, the thought made his brain short-circuit a little. Eddie’s anger ebbed as he glanced back over his shoulder at Richie.</p><p>“Yeah. You didn’t know that?” Richie felt like Eddie had knocked his knees out from under him again. He glanced down briefly to make sure he hadn’t ascended out of his body and found it still sprawled back in the bleachers. </p><p>“No,” Richie breathed. “That’s…that’s hot, Eds,” Richie said before he could stop himself. Eddie’s mouth ticked, something between a reluctant smile and a full-bodied frown. </p><p>“We should talk about that,” Eddie said after a moment. </p><p>“God, let’s,” Richie said. Mostly, he was kidding. But, hey, if Eddie wanted to talk about how he limbered up and sweatied down, who the fuck was Richie to stop him? Besides achingly in love with him and painfully aware of its fruitlessness? </p><p>Eddie elbowed him.</p><p>“No, jackass. I mean…” Eddie sighed and turned so that he was fully facing Richie. Richie’s stomach clenched. Eds was getting serious. </p><p>As Eddie licked his lips, readying to speak, Richie wondered wildly if Eddie even knew how crazy he was about him. Richie hadn’t exactly tried to keep it a secret, but things had gotten complicated between them. </p><p>“You told Claire that you were seeing someone,” Eddie said finally. He picked at his cuticles, then looked back up at Richie. Richie nodded.</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“Okay, so I’ll have to pretend to be your boyfriend when we go?” </p><p>Richie’s heart thudded.</p><p>“You can still back out, Eds. No hard feelings,” he told him and swore to himself that if Eddie took this out, he <em>wouldn’t</em> have hard feelings. Or at least none he’d let Eddie know about. Eddie shook his head.</p><p>“No, just, if we’re <em>pretending</em> to be boyfriends, who’s to say that she won’t know, and the whole thing have been for nothing?” </p><p>Richie took a long moment to search Eddie’s face. He was staring back at him with those big, brown eyes and lips chewed swollen. Richie wanted him so much. He wanted to love Eddie more than he’d ever been loved in his life. </p><p>“You worried about faking attraction to me, Eds?” Richie teased. He felt a little breathless. <em>Friends,</em> he reminded himself sharply. <em>Friends. Friends. A beautiful corpse, not a beautiful widow.</em></p><p>“Shut up,” Eddie squeaked. There was an honest to God blush rising in his cheeks. <em>Beautiful corpse.</em></p><p>“We should practice,” Richie blurted, firmly ignoring everything in his head telling him that he was an idiot. His resolve crumbled, and Richie tried to justify it by telling himself that they were still just <em>friends</em> if it was all for Teary Claire. If it seemed like some sort of self-flagellation, well, that was his business.</p><p>Eddie snorted. He sounded nervous and looked it, too. </p><p>“Practice for our practice?” </p><p>Richie felt the words swirling before he could stop them, the possibilities flashing before him in hazel-toned snapshots.</p><p>“Yeah, you know. Exposure therapy,” he said. His throat clicked when he swallowed. “If you go so red by just me joking about you being attracted to me, then she’s definitely going to <em>know</em> when I’m charming you up all night.” Eddie went even redder, if that was even possible. Richie wanted to kiss him all over. He went on in a rush, before he lost his nerve. “We’ll have to make it believable, Eds. Her whole future perception of self-worth could be resting in our hands.”  </p><p>“What are you suggesting?” Eddie asked. His face took on a suspicious tilt, which, fair, but Richie just sat up straight on the bleacher’s bench and swung a leg around so that he was straddling it. Eddie had his ankles crossed under him, and their knees brushed. </p><p>“I’m gonna woo you,” Richie said, waggling his eyebrows. Eddie went red again, and Richie clucked at him. “I’m gonna woo you, and you’re going to get used to it, so you stop turning into a tomato.”</p><p>Eddie let out an indignant noise, but he didn’t back away. </p><p>“Ready?” Richie asked after a moment. Eddie glared at him, which wasn’t a no. Richie held his eyes. “Here we go. Eds, you look ravishing.” Richie said it with every ounce of genuineness in his body. He didn’t make a joke of it, didn’t make it flirty, didn’t follow it with a sultry scrape of his eyes down Eddie’s limbs. Eddie pressed his mouth into a line but didn’t get redder. “Good,” Richie praised, grinning. </p><p>“This is fucking stupid,” Eddie grumbled, but he was grinning a little, too. </p><p>Richie sat there staring at him for a moment, all the possibilities of <em>truth</em> that he could spill on Eddie in this moment, the comfort of his cowardice, knowing that he could be completely honest about how achingly in love he was without the risk of rejection. Shame and joy rolled through him in equal measure. </p><p>“Eddie," he breathed eventually, "Sometimes, I think I’d like to swim in your dimples.” </p><p>“I wish you’d drown in them,” Eddie shot back under his breath. </p><p>“It would be my absolute pleasure. Now, shut up, and let me shower you with affection.” Eddie huffed, situated himself, and looked back at Richie. Richie stifled a love-sick groan. “Your eyes…” </p><p>Eddie was quiet for a moment.</p><p>“Is there supposed to be a ‘woo’ in there somewhere?” Eddie asked.</p><p>“Your eyes are the ‘woo,’ Eds,” Richie told him. “I’ve been wooed.” </p><p>“I hate you.”</p><p>“I love you.” </p><p>Richie felt the air get sucked out of him, stunned speechless by his own words. Eddie went rigid. His eyes, those eyes, were scrabbling over his face, and Richie thought his dumb heart might finally make the right call and just fucking burst out of him and leave him for dead. He hadn’t exactly <em>meant</em> to say it like that, but he couldn't really bring himself regret it. It was true, and this might be his only chance to say it. </p><p>“As my pretend boyfriend,” Richie started, practically breathless before he licked his lips. He was bone-deep nervous for a reason that didn't really make sense. They were just playing pretend. Or...Eddie was. “You would probably say it back.”</p><p>Eddie didn’t say anything. Then, he nodded slowly. </p><p>“I probably would,” he said, but his voice was barely there. </p><p>Richie heard the bell ring inside the closest building, and the din of runners let out a relieved breath. He tried to hold Eddie’s gaze, but he was turned around, slipping his backpack over his shoulders. Richie stood and did the same, pretending not to notice how pregnant the silence around them felt. </p><p>He drove Eddie home, and they didn’t talk about it.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Ahh, the rituals are intricate, are they not?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which everybody dances, but no one has any fun.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>(me, internally vibrating with excitement for you guys to read this chapter: it's cool.)</p><p>tws: hypothetical homophobic violence, underage drinking, slurs.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div>
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    <em>September ‘93</em>
 
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</div><p>Richie picked him up in the mornings, and they didn’t talk about how Richie said he loved Eddie. It was fake. Richie stayed late so he could drive Eddie home after the start of his cross-country practices, and they didn’t talk about how every second with Richie made Eddie feel like he was being set on fire in the good ways and the bad.</p><p>The closer they got to the date of the dance, the more panicked he grew. Time was dwindling for him to get his head on straight for the dance. Or, er, not straight? For him to get his head around the idea that Richie Tozier was his date for the dance. His <em>fake</em> date. </p><p>When there were a mere four days left to unscramble everything, Eddie was over at Richie’s “studying” for a genetics quiz. Mostly, he was scrambling himself up more by thinking about how he wanted it to be real and how he wasn’t sure that he could do it if it wasn’t…</p><p>Then, so swiftly and surely that it made his throat clench, Eddie realized that if it wasn’t fake, he probably wouldn’t get it at all. </p><p>You don’t fake-date somebody who’s willing to real-date you, unless you don’t want to real-date them. </p><p>“You want music?” Richie asked, startling Eddie out of his thoughts. Eddie, still frowning down at the fucking hieroglyphs of his genetics notebook as though he were thinking about anything other than Richie, shrugged. Eddie watched from the corner of his eyes—pretending not to—as Richie heaved himself off the bed and crossed closer to Eddie. “Do you have a preference?” Richie flipped through the stack of CDs by Eddie's elbow. </p><p>“I prefer not to fail this quiz,” he bit. </p><p>“Take a break,” Richie said and ditched the CDs for a pile of cassettes. Eddie tried to make out the colorful scrawl over their faces, but he was flicking through them even faster than the discs. Eventually, Richie found what was he was looking for and plucked it from the pile, sliding it into the player and snapping it shut. </p><p>“You heard the part about me preferring <em>not</em> to fail, right?” Eddie asked, raising an eyebrow at him. Richie shrugged. </p><p>“Pea plants, genome, polypeptides, you’ve got it.” </p><p>Eddie scoffed. </p><p>“That’s fucking easy for you to say, Mr. I’m-a-secret-genius-who’s-<em>voluntarily</em>-taking-calc-three.” </p><p>“Come on.” Richie took the notebook out of Eddie’s hand and tossed it onto the desk. Eddie really didn’t mind. “Mendel will still be dead when you’re done with your break.” </p><p>“Classy,” Eddie said, and Richie grinned, reaching out a hand to haul him up. </p><p>“We’ve got bigger things to worry about.”</p><p>“Such as?”</p><p>“Such <em>as</em> the dance is Friday.” </p><p>Eddie’s heart lurched. He’d given it the old college try to not feel like shit anytime he thought about the dance. At this point, he was mostly just dreading it. Eddie felt sure to his bones that it would be nothing but painful, pretending to be with Richie and pretending he didn’t want to be.</p><p>Richie went on, “And I have a feeling those hips don’t Swayze.” His eyes scraped over Eddie, heat trailing down after his gaze, and Eddie shoved his shoulder. </p><p>“Shut the fuck up. You don’t know what my hips do,” Eddie snapped. Richie’s grin just widened.</p><p>“Why don’t you show me?” Richie offered his hand out. </p><p>“Stop being a jackass, Richie,” Eddie said. It came out sharper than he’d really meant. Richie took it in stride, his smile never wavering. </p><p>“Sorry, Eds, but no boyfriend of mine would not know how to slow dance with me.” Richie’s face flickered with mischief, and Eddie’s heart clenched tighter. </p><p>“I’m not your boyfriend,” Eddie said. It was a reminder for them both and sounded as nasty as it felt. </p><p>Richie’s smile finally wavered, and the hand he was presenting to Eddie dipped a little along with it. </p><p>“Dance with me, Eds.” </p><p>Maybe it was something about how big his eyes looked behind his glasses, or the half-defeated tilt of his shoulders, or the way that Eddie always, <em>always</em> wanted to be closer to Richie, but he sighed and stepped closer, fitting one hand into Richie’s and the other at the nape of his neck. </p><p>“This isn’t even a slow dance song,” Eddie grumbled. He watched their feet shuffle around so that maybe Richie wouldn’t see how red he was from the hand sliding around to the small of his back and tugging him closer. Eddie could feel the warmth of Richie all over. </p><p>“Any song is a slow dance song if you’re slow dancing to it,” Richie countered. His breath came out in puffs over Eddie’s face. “Besides, ‘Well I Wonder’ is a pining teenage anthem,” Richie went on, and as Eddie caught the lyrics—<em>Do you see me when I pass? I half-die</em>—he decided, yeah, sounded like a pining teenage anthem. Eddie felt his face go redder, if that were even possible.</p><p>“Aren’t we supposed to be like, stepping or something? This is just swaying.” </p><p>“I have never slow danced in my life, how the shit should I know?” Richie’s arm was tight around Eddie’s waist, keeping him close as they swayed. </p><p>“What the fuck? Why are we dancing if you’ve never danced?” </p><p>“That is precisely why. I don’t want to look dumb,” Richie said and blinked owlishly at him. </p><p>Indignation ripped through Eddie. There he was, blushing all over because Richie was holding him close, and all Richie was thinking about was not looking dumb at the dance. He was using Eddie, good intentions or not. </p><p>Eddie wanted to punch him. He wanted to kiss him. He wanted to punch him for making him want to kiss him. Mostly, he wanted it all to be real, and because it wasn’t, and because that fucking <em>sucked</em>, he stepped backwards out of Richie’s grasp, frowning like it didn’t kill him to do it. </p><p>“No more of this practice bullshit,” Eddie said sharply. </p><p>“What do you mean?” Richie’s eyebrows tugged together.</p><p>“I mean just what I said,” Eddie spat. “I don’t want to do this anymore. We’ll go to the dance, and we’ll pretend to be boyfriends so that you can feel good about yourself, and then we’ll all just stop fucking pretending.”</p><p>“Eddie,” Richie started. He looked like he was about to step closer to Eddie, to use the way he <em>knew</em> Eddie felt about him to get what he wanted, whatever the fuck that even was. </p><p>Eddie suddenly saw Sonia’s face flash before him—he knew all the moves in her book, could read them blind—and he took two steps backward, skin stinging like he’d been electrocuted. He knew it was probably an overreaction, knew that what was happening with Richie wasn't <em>really</em> like what always happened with his mother, but God, it felt like it. Eddie's breath hitched. </p><p>“Can you just help me with genetics? Please?” he asked, waving sharply to his abandoned notebook. Richie’s mouth pressed into a line, and he stepped back. </p><p>“Sure.” </p><p>Richie helped with genetics, and Eddie failed the quiz anyway. He got his grade back Friday morning, as though he weren’t already feeling overall shitty and pissed off at the world and his inability to be enough just one fucking time. </p><p>Eddie saw that Richie—even though he'd shoved the quiz in his backpack nearly as soon as the teacher had handed it to him—had made a perfect score, because of fucking course he did. Eddie went to his Spanish class glaring like someone had groped his favorite white shirt with mustard-hands. </p><p>“You okay?” Mike asked when he slid into the desk next to Eddie. Eddie glared ahead.</p><p>“No.” </p><p>“Oh…do you want to talk about it?” Mike offered. Eddie could see him glancing around, trying to figure out what to do with the ticking bomb sitting in front of him. Eddie huffed and crossed his arms.</p><p>“No,” Eddie bit out. Mike paused. </p><p>“Sure, okay. Well, uh, are you excited for the dance tonight?” Eddie’s glare whipped around to him so fast that Mike actually jumped a little. “Never mind,” he said and turned to stare at the board. Eddie always knew Mike was smart. </p><p>He knew the exact opposite could be said about Bill, however, for which exhibit A appeared when he sat down with Eddie and Mike at lunch positively <em>gushing</em> about the fucking dance and how the boutonniere he’d bought would match Stanley’s eyes exactly. Mike grimaced from Eddie’s side, and Bill’s gushing ended abruptly.</p><p>“What?” he asked, staring between Eddie and Mike. Mike ventured a glance at Eddie, who just stabbed his meatloaf, then stabbed it again.</p><p>“I think the dance is a bit of a sore subject,” Mike said softly. Eddie stabbed the stupid meatloaf once more, just for good measure. </p><p>“Oh no. Richie didn’t do s-s-something dumb, did he?” Bill asked. Eddie shoved his tray away and glared at Richie’s dumb face across the cafeteria. He was laughing with Stan, his head thrown back and curls brushing his shoulders as they made their way over with their food. </p><p>“Richie didn’t do anything,” Eddie grumbled. Then, “That’s the fucking problem.” </p><p>Mike’s frown deepened.</p><p>“Eddie, you know Richie is—” Mike was cut off by Richie clapping him on the shoulder and wedging himself down between him and Eddie.</p><p>“Yes, Mikey, Eduardo is well aware that I am devilishly handsome, isn’t that right, Eds?” Richie swayed into Eddie, and Eddie scooted a bit away, hating himself for how much effort it took.</p><p>“Cock off,” he said. Richie either didn’t notice or didn’t deem it worth drawing attention to the way Eddie’s response fell flat of what their banter had once been. Maybe he was just used to it all falling flat, now, like the way Eddie was used to feeling set on fire anytime Richie was within spitting distance. Eddie spent most of his days wishing for aloe. </p><p>“Upon what hour shall ye be expecting yon chariot this soft eve, thou fair Michael?” Richie asked, bowing so deeply that Eddie thought he’d get ketchup in his hair. Would serve him right. </p><p>Mike snorted. </p><p>“The dance starts at seven, so before then.” </p><p>“Eds, you still good to go at six-thirty?” Richie asked, turning away from Mike and trying to catch Eddie’s eye.</p><p>“Fine,” Eddie said, not looking up from the lip of his lunch tray. He felt Richie’s eyes linger on him, and he silently dared Richie to say even a word about it. He’d call the whole thing off, he fucking would. (Actually, he probably wouldn’t. He wanted to go with Richie. He just didn’t want to be going with Richie under those particular circumstances.) Richie didn’t say anything, just turned back to Mike.</p><p>“We’ll be there at six-forty-five, then,” Richie said. He sounded sad, and Eddie knew the fucking feeling. </p><p>The next time Eddie saw Richie, he was already sprinting laps around the soccer field. Normally, he waited for the team-sanctioned practice after P.E., but after the day he’d had, he was feeling particularly in need of running until he couldn’t breathe and, thereby, couldn’t scream at the top of his lungs. He caught sight of Richie standing by the edge of the track, just watching Eddie. </p><p>He tried to ignore it and just ran until he couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t scream. </p><p>By the time his coach blew the whistle for the end of practice, Eddie was about two laps from face-planting into the dirt. </p><p>“Fuck,” he groaned, dropping out of his sprint and trying to walk the stitch out of his side. He’d have shin-splints in the morning, he knew that already. </p><p>“You looked good out there,” Richie said, leaning against the fence surrounding the track. “Working hard, huh?” He wasn’t smiling. </p><p>“Yeah, well,” Eddie huffed, still clutching his side. “Our first meet’s in two weeks.” </p><p>“Good luck.” </p><p>“Thanks.” Eddie fell into the grass with his legs sprawled out in front of him. Sonia used to throw a fit anytime she saw him stretching out in the grass after a run. Normally, Eddie tried to disassociate Sonia from anything in his life that brought him joy, but now, he was seeing her everywhere, in his running, in Richie, everywhere, and it left him feeling off-balance and pissed off.</p><p>“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Richie said quietly after a moment. Eddie pressed his forehead as close to his knee as he could get and pretended not to know what Richie was talking about.</p><p>“It helps with cramps,” he said, then switched legs. Richie frowned. </p><p>“I mean the dance, Eddie.” </p><p>“It’s fine, Rich. Really." He didn't want to talk about this. He just wanted to get it over with, and as much as Richie has ever seemed to exist solely to push Eddie's buttons, he seemed to hold that torch with pride now. </p><p>He pushed on, more fervent seeming after Eddie had tried to shut him down, “It doesn’t seem fine. It seems like you don’t even want to talk to me, and I’d just as soon not go as go and you be pissed off at me the whole time.” </p><p>Eddie glared up at him. </p><p>“Sorry, were you hoping for a particularly magical evening?” Eddie growled, and Richie glared right back. </p><p>“Yeah, kind of.” </p><p>Eddie pressed his lips together in a tight line, stood, and wiped the grass off him. </p><p>“Are you ready?” he asked, crossing his arms and stared past Richie. </p><p>“Do you want to go to the dance or not?” </p><p>“Yes, Richie. I want to go.” Eddie held onto the nasty snap in his voice to keep it from trembling. It wasn't that he <em>wanted</em> to be mean to Richie, not even a little bit. In fact, the thought kind of killed him. But this thing with Richie was teaching him more and more that it was a dog-eat-dog world, and if Eddie didn't want to get hurt, then he'd have to push people away. Even if it kind of killed him.</p><p>“Whatever,” Richie said finally, then started towards the parking lot. Eddie let out a slow breath as he walked away, then followed.  </p><p>They didn’t talk much on the drive home, and after Richie peeled back out of the driveway, Eddie climbed the steps to his room feeling exhausted, both mentally and physically. Normally, he showered after practice, but this day, he fell face-first into bed and was asleep in minutes. He startled awake sometime later to the sound of a voice in his room. </p><p>“Hey, the door was unlo—wow, okay, not that I’m not digging the view there, Eds,” Richie said, “But, uh, I think this event is supposed to be a little more formal.” </p><p>Eddie pushed himself up a bit and stared blearily back at Richie in his doorway. Richie in a suit. Richie in a <em>suit</em>, a nice suit that brought out his shoulders and his eyes, and oh, fuck, he wasn’t wearing his glasses, so they were just there and immediate, and Eddie was too soft from sleep to handle Richie in a suit. </p><p>“Where are your glasses?” Eddie asked, because that seemed like the single-most important fact swirling around in his head at the moment. Richie’s eyes looked smaller without them, but dark and sharp and intense as they scraped over Eddie. Eddie was suddenly aware of the sprawl of his body laid out on his stomach in his running shorts, with one leg hiked up near his chest and looking back at Richie over his shoulder. </p><p>He knew he looked like sex on a platter. </p><p>Eddie scrambled over and sat upright, heat drenching across his skin. Richie blinked.</p><p>“What?” Richie asked, brow furrowed like he was trying to find the thread of conversation. </p><p>Richie was a real bastard, acting like Eddie affected him in any way, knowing damn well he didn’t want to be in a relationship with Eddie. </p><p>“Your glasses,” Eddie answered, working to keep the nasty sharpness out of his voice. </p><p>“Oh. Uh, I got contacts for the dance. Kinda itchy though. Plus, I really thought I was going to gouge my eyes out. My mom had to help get them in. I don’t know how I’m gonna get ‘em out tonight at Bill’s.” Richie was rambling, standing there in Eddie’s room, rambling. </p><p>“You’re going to Bill’s?” Eddie asked. It was fine. It wasn’t like he’d hoped to spend the after-dance evening with his friends, too. Or, better yet, with Richie. Or, better yet, with Richie, with Richie <em>not</em> kicking a gigantic bruise into his heart.</p><p>“Oh shit. Did I not tell you?” Richie’s face went suddenly pale. Eddie shook his head. “Bill said we could all come over and crash at his house. I was supposed to tell you, but…” Richie’s voice trailed off.</p><p>“But I ditched you at P.E.,” Eddie finished for him. Richie glanced up and chewed his lip.</p><p>“I mean, I wasn’t going to say it,” Richie said. He offered Eddie something of a smile, and it killed Eddie. He hated this tension swelling back and forth between them. </p><p>“What time is it?” Eddie asked, shoving the guilt down.</p><p>“Six-thirty when I got here,” Richie said with a shrug. </p><p>“Fuck,” Eddie hissed, leaping off the bed and swirling around his room. He hadn’t even showered yet, and they were supposed to be leaving for Mike’s, like, now. “Sorry, I need to shower and change.” </p><p>Richie just nodded and stepped fully into Eddie’s room so Eddie could rush out. </p><p>He tried not to think about Richie—alone, in his bedroom—as he sped through his shower routine. </p><p>After he was relatively clean with his breath relatively fresh, Eddie kicked into his nice pants and shoved the edge of his dress shirt down into them. He’d wanted to put some effort into his hair, but it looked like he was going with the literally-dripping-wet look. He knew it’d be all puffy later, but he was going to spend the whole night miserable anyway, so what could a bad hair day really add to that? He at least tried to smooth it back, but a rebellious strand kept flopping down over his forehead, and he was really too late to fight with it.</p><p>As he made his way back into his room, tugging with his tie, he heard a strangled noise fall out of Richie’s mouth. Eddie’s eyes flicked up.</p><p>“What?” he asked, probably sounding a bit too harsh. </p><p>Richie, sitting on the edge of Eddie’s bed, just shook his head. He tried to nudge his glasses up his nose, but since he wasn’t actually wearing them, he just knocked himself in the eye instead.</p><p>“Ah fuck,” Richie said and scrubbed at his eye. “I can’t believe I just did that.” </p><p>Eddie, try as he might, couldn't help the deranged little giggle that slipped past his lips, and when Richie looked up, face shining like he'd just been handed a million-dollar check with his name on it, he thought that maybe the night wouldn't be so bad after all. Eddie relaxed a little into the smile on his face and glanced down.</p><p>“Yeah, well, you’ve only been wearing glasses your whole life,” Eddie said. He tugged his tie tight, then loosened it again because he was already struggling to breathe. He stuck his inhaler in his pocket, just in case. </p><p>“Yeah, I’m sorry I’m not the most suave date,” Richie said, blinking up at Eddie with a sheepish smile on his face. </p><p>“Suavest,” Eddie corrected. He thought about correcting Richie on the “date” part, too, but Richie was smiling at him, and yeah, it was making Eddie’s stomach jump around like he had another stomach flu, but he didn’t really want to see the smile drain off Richie’s face. </p><p>“You ready to go?” Richie asked. He pushed himself off the bed and picked up Eddie’s suit jacket from where it hung on the back of his desk chair. Eddie took it from him, fingering the fabric. </p><p>“This was my dad’s,” Eddie said, staring down at it. It was a little big on him, but he’d grow into it someday. Richie was quiet. “Mom’s been holed up in her room since I asked her to get it out for me.” </p><p>Eddie slid his arms into it. It didn’t really smell like him anymore. Or maybe it did. He’d been young, didn’t really remember what his dad had smelled like. </p><p>“You okay?” Richie asked softly. His hand stretched out and brushed across Eddie’s, and even though it stung, Eddie held onto it. </p><p>“Yeah,” he said, still staring down at their joined hands. “It just sucks he’s missing this, you know?” </p><p>Eddie heard the click of Richie’s throat as he swallowed. When he spoke, his voice was paper thin.</p><p>“He’d have stayed forever if he could have,” Richie murmured. </p><p>Eddie looked up. </p><p>Sometimes, talking with Richie was like trying to read a book with every fifth page torn out. For the most part, Eddie understood. He knew the characters, knew the arcs. But then sometimes, moments like these happen. </p><p>Richie looked down at him, his eyes unexpectedly wet, no trace of humor in his face, sorrow pouring back so sincere it made his own throat close. </p><p>Moments like that happen, where there's something so <em>thick</em> rolling under the surface of the words that it made Eddie ache and scramble back through the pages of their lives just trying to <em>understand</em>, and Eddie has to just close the book.  </p><p>He pulled his hand away and stepped back. </p><p>“We’re late,” he said and turned away from Richie, trying to brush off whatever the fuck had just happened. </p><p>He shoved some clothes into his backpack, scribbled a quick note for his mom telling her—not <em>asking</em>, thank you very much—that he was staying at Bill’s that night, and followed Richie out to his truck. Richie opened the door for him, and he slid in with his eyes forward, angry with himself for dredging up the memory of his father. It always put him in a dark mood, and he’d already been in one to start with, scraped raw from his feelings for Richie, the weird moment in his room, the shittiness of this not even being a real date, and now, the literal ghost of his father clinging to the edges of his thoughts. </p><p>“Oh, I forgot,” Richie said when he opened the door to his own side. He leaned across the seat and plucked a small, plastic box off the bench beside Eddie. Eddie hadn’t even noticed it when he crawled in. Then, Richie was jogging back to Eddie’s side, the night air chilling across Eddie’s skin as Richie tugged his door back open. “I got you a boutonnierre,” he said and snapped up the plastic lid. Inside was a simple, red rose adorned on a bed of baby’s breath. </p><p>Richie took it gingerly out of the box and offered it up to Eddie. </p><p>“I didn’t get you one,” Eddie admitted, staring down at the flower’s satiny skin pinched in Richie’s fingers. “I’m sorry." When he looked back up at Richie, standing close in the triangle of the opened truck door, Eddie had to remind himself that this wasn’t <em>real</em>, none of this was <em>real</em>. </p><p>“Hang on,” Eddie said quickly, shoving the thought away. He tugged the front zipper of his backpack open and dug around until he found what he was looking for: a safety pin. Then, he sat back up and gently tugged at one of the larger petals in the flower’s mouth until it slid loose. </p><p>He pinioned it through on the edge of the safety pin, then turned for Richie’s jacket. Once it was fastened on, he had to resist the urge to smooth his hands down Richie’s front. Richie swallowed. </p><p>“It’s not the most traditional,” Eddie said, “But at least we’ll match.” </p><p>Richie stared at him for a long moment, still so fucking close, then seemed to shake himself. </p><p>“Right,” he said, then moved to fasten what was left of the flower on Eddie’s lapel. </p><p>He tried not to feel the warmth of Richie’s fingers, Richie’s breath on his neck. </p><p>By the time they finally got moving, it was damn near seven, and Eddie knew Mike would be pissed. </p><p>“Sorry, sorry!” Richie yelled as they slid into Mike’s driveway, windows down, chasing the breeze. Mike sat on the front porch steps with an eyebrow raised.</p><p>“Thought I was being stood up,” Mike called back, then rose to his feet. Mike was wearing a suit, too, though he’d abandoned the jacket for a cleanly-pressed shirt and a bowtie. He looked so nice that if Eddie wasn’t so stupid hung up on Richie, he’d probably feel a rush when Mike crawled into the truck beside him. </p><p>Then again, Eddie <em>did</em> feel a rush when he got in, but mostly because it meant Eddie had to slide across the truck bench and press into Richie’s side. He tried to ignore it, knowing damn well it wouldn’t get him anywhere. </p><p>“I’d never stand you up, Mikey-babe,” Richie crooned, reaching across Eddie to pat Mike’s cheek. Mike rolled his eyes and swatted him away, but when Richie let his arm fall, Eddie told himself it was just a coincidence that his hand brushed the top of his thigh. </p><p>Stan’s mom’s station wagon was already in the parking lot by the time they arrived (seven-twenty) and made their way inside. Really, the place was fucking ugly. There were tissue-paper streamers hanging from the rafters and lazily-deflating balloons being kicked around by underclassmen. Still, Richie spotted Bill and Stan immediately after they entered the gym-turned-dance-floor and shoved his way through the gyrating teens to get to them with Eddie and Mike tight on his heels. </p><p>Once they stopped in front of their friends, Richie turned back to Mike, and one hand found a warm resting place against the small of Eddie’s back. Eddie stiffened, though Richie’s touch seemed to be nearly unconscious as he talked very seriously to Mike. </p><p>“Okay, Mikey,” he said. “Now, since you’re the beefiest of us, and I mean that in the best way imaginable, honestly, you’re on queer-protection duty.” </p><p>Mike made a face of repulsion. </p><p>“The fuck, Richie,” Stan asked. </p><p>“I’m just saying! This is Derry, and we’ve got not one but two gay couples in the middle of their God-fearing dance floor. Some shit might go down.” </p><p>“Richie,” Eddie hissed, glancing around, trying to put a cap on the horror rising like a tide within him. </p><p>“I’m not hiding tonight, Eddie,” Richie said. His voice was suddenly very serious as he looked to Eddie in the disco-ball lighting. It danced across his skin, and Eddie wanted a great deal of things in that moment. He wanted very much for the hand on his back to be tugging him closer. He wanted very much for this to be real. He wanted very much for them to not need a “queer-protector” because even though Richie was probably mostly joking, he wasn’t, too. </p><p>“Someone s-s-spiked the punch,” Bill said, offering his cup for emphasis, tearing through the tension in Richie’s gaze at Eddie and Eddie’s gaze back at him. They both blinked and turned to Bill.</p><p>“What?” Eddie asked, even though he’d heard him. He just needed something other than the feeling of Richie’s hand still on his back to hold onto. </p><p>“Booze in the bowl, Eds,” Richie said. His hand fell away, and Eddie wanted more, both at once to mourn its loss and to sigh a breath of relief. “You want some?” </p><p>He was moving for the punch table before Eddie could answer and returned a few minutes later with only one glass. He passed it to Eddie as he stepped back into their little circle. </p><p>“You didn’t want any?” Eddie asked, taking a tentative sip. He didn’t normally drink, but it was his senior year, and he’d had one fuck of month. Still, he didn’t want to overdo it. He’d probably have shit for tolerance. </p><p>“Nah, I’ve gotta get you home, Mr. Spaghetti. Plus, Bev would kill me if I died from mixing four-dollar-vodka-punch with the meds they’ve got me on.” </p><p>Richie shoved his hands in his pockets and glanced around the gym. Eddie mirrored the motion, taking in the bouncing, sweatied hob in the middle of the room as well as the slow swayers on the edges. There were a few groups loitering around at the walls, and a pair in the corner twirling their suit jackets over their heads and howling. Richie snorted. </p><p>“Seems like they’ve had a glass or two,” he said.</p><p>“I’m pretty sure the guy with the tie knotted around his head is the one who spiked it,” Stan said. His eyebrow flicked up, unimpressed, and Eddie snorted. </p><p>“How the fuck did they even manage that?” he asked. </p><p>“Bad ch-ch-chaperones,” Bill said, grinning. He had a glass of punch in his hand, too, and his eyes were glassy. He tossed his cup into a nearby trash can, then draped himself over Stan’s shoulder. “Dance with me,” he called over the music. Stan rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. Eddie watched them go, definitely not feeling at all jealous that they got to just <em>be</em> together. No pretend bullshit. </p><p>He downed the rest of his drink and grimaced. </p><p>“I’m gonna get another,” Eddie called, the idea of his shit tolerance hanging somewhere forgotten in the back of his mind. </p><p>When he returned to where he’d left Richie and Mike, he saw Richie standing alone, swaying idly to the beat with his hands still in his pockets. </p><p>“Where’s Mike?” Eddie asked and then downed at least half of his punch. </p><p>Richie raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t say anything about it. Instead, he nodded towards the dance floor. </p><p>“Some girl asked him to dance,” Richie called, dipping his head close to be heard over the bouncing music. </p><p>Eddie followed his eyes into the crowd and saw Mike dancing with a girl from their Spanish class and looking more at-ease there than Eddie had expected. Still, Eddie snorted. </p><p>“Sucks for him,” he said. </p><p>“I dunno, Eddie. Some people come to dances to, like, dance.” Richie leveled him with a <em>look</em>, and Eddie frowned.</p><p>“Was that a subtle way of telling me you want to go dance?” he asked, then finished his drink, grimacing again. God, it tasted like someone had managed to pour a whole fucking bottle of vodka into it. If he cared at all about the quality of his education, he’d seriously consider a strongly-worded letter to the PTA. Then again, he was determined to reap the benefits of the school’s shitty chaperoning tonight. </p><p>He also considered going for drink number three, but the world was already buzzing a little, so he decided against it. </p><p>“I wasn’t trying to be subtle about it, but yeah,” Richie answered. His <em>look</em> melted into a grin and expectant raise of his eyebrows. </p><p>Eddie glanced back out at the crowd. There were a bunch of people, and the songs they’d been playing were upbeat enough that he could mostly dance <em>beside</em> Richie instead of <em>with</em> Richie and save himself the worst of the gross yearning as well as potentially uphold this tentative truce they'd settled into. </p><p>“Yeah, alright,” Eddie said and tossed his cup in the trash. </p><p>Richie grinned as he led them through the dancing people, close enough that they could see both Stan and Bill and Mike and his adopted-date. Bill seemed like he’d <em>not</em> turned down a third glass and was wheeling his arms around and looking like he was having an absolute blast while Stan laughed beside him. </p><p>Eddie semi-danced near them for a long time, catching sight of them again and again and thinking that they both looked so carefree and happy and that it wasn’t fair. Something turned in Eddie’s gut.</p><p>He decided, fuck it, for drink number three—despite drink number two having just completely settled and spiraled out inside him—and left Richie in the crowd. </p><p>He downed it by the table and had to really focus to make it back to Richie. Eddie apparently did have shit for tolerance, but in his defense, the punch tasted more like vodka than punch. Maybe it was two full bottles dumped in there. Wouldn’t surprise him. Fuck, did Richie always look that good? The lights were draping across his cheeks, and he was smiling down at Eddie, a soft, sweet fucking thing, and Eddie knew by the oh-so-familiar churn in his chest that Richie <em>absolutely</em> always looked that good and that it <em>absolutely</em> always ached that Eddie couldn’t just touch him like he wanted. </p><p>As soon as the thought crossed his mind, his hands were on Richie, tugging his face down to eye-level before he could stop himself. Richie’s eyes went wide, but Eddie was just holding him there and thinking about how Richie didn’t have to look so fucking horrified by it. </p><p>“I miss your glasses,” Eddie grumbled, turning Richie’s face side to side to inspect. His face was warm and soft under his fingers, and without the glasses making his eyes big and goofy and adorable, all Eddie had to focus on was the surprised hang of his mouth. He stared for a long moment at the lines in Richie’s lip, the red spot on top where he’d chewed them raw. </p><p>He’d just <em>really</em> gotten into the semantics of what exact color Richie’s lips were in the disco-ball lighting when Richie’s hands slowly came up and pulled Eddie’s down. </p><p>“Hey,” Eddie protested as Richie straightened. “I wasn’t done!” </p><p>“It’s showtime, babe,” Richie said, his eyes hovering just over Eddie’s shoulder. </p><p>“Eddie?” a new voice asked, appearing out of fucking nowhere at Eddie’s side. Eddie turned to frown at the newcomer for interrupting his very informative internal debate about Richie’s mouth and instead found himself face-to-face with Teary Claire. She was giving him this half-confused, half-bemused look that Eddie did not like at all. “You’re Richie’s boyfriend?” she asked. </p><p>It was probably perfectly civil enough, but the world was swimming around him a little, and he was sort of regretting drink number three, but maybe also not, because it hadn’t hurt anything other than his ego when she’d asked. He hadn't felt afraid, hadn't felt on the verge of panic.</p><p>“I can date a cute boy, Claire,” he told her defensively. He, in his drunken state, didn’t let himself think about the fact that he was not, in fact, dating a cute boy, that, in fact, the cute boy didn’t <em>want</em> to date him. Instead, he turned toward her, so he wasn’t looking back over his shoulder. The movement brought him closer to Richie than before, so he took the opportunity to wrap his arm around Richie’s waist and fit into the warmth at his chest. If he nuzzled, so what? They were “dating”. It needed to be convincing. Richie’s breathing was ragged, but his arm came up to hold Eddie in place. </p><p>“No, of course. I just…I didn’t know you liked boys, I guess,” she said. </p><p>“Well, I do! I’m a big fat queer,” he told her, too loud even in the din of the music. The words hiccupped on their way out, and Richie was turning him away from Claire nearly immediately. </p><p>“Sorry,” Eddie heard him tell her as he was steered away. “He got into the punch.” Once they were tucked into a fresh fold of people, Richie was wheeling around on him with an amused expression. “What the fuck was that, Kaspbrak?” he asked, but he didn’t sound angry. Eddie had the wild urge to giggle, so he did. </p><p>He also had the wild urge to wrap his arms around Richie’s middle, so he did that, too, finding a freedom he hadn’t even known possible in the fake-dating of Richie Tozier. </p><p>He could kiss him. Right now. And Richie would have to stand there and take it because it was his stupid fault for telling Claire they were together. </p><p>The thought of <em>that</em> being their first kiss turned Eddie’s stomach sour. </p><p>He swallowed down the idea. </p><p>“That was the first time I’ve said that,” he told Richie instead, staring up at him and wishing he wasn’t so far away. He might have tugged Richie down again, but he saw the advantage of keeping his arms where they were, namely, that it kept Richie pressed right close against him. </p><p>“You sounded great, kid,” Richie said, tipping his chin up with a finger, as though Eddie weren’t already craned all the way back to stare at him. </p><p>All at once, the music changed to the first slow song of the night, and even though they were already sort of intertwined, Eddie still froze. </p><p>“Do you want to dance?” Richie asked softly. Eddie leaned around Richie, still hanging at his middle, and caught Claire’s eye across the room. </p><p>“Fuck yeah,” Eddie told him and straightened. </p><p>At first, he was disappointed when Richie unwound Eddie’s arms from around him, and then, he found it really wasn’t so bad as he guided Eddie’s arms around his neck, leaning down a little to allow for it. Richie’s hands found a home on his hips and dragged him closer. </p><p>“You’re too tall,” Eddie complained. Richie was all the fuck the way up there. Richie just snorted.</p><p>“I think, really, the issue here is that you’re too short,” Richie answered and stepped them backwards. </p><p>“Whoa, fancy footwork,” Eddie said, grinning. </p><p>“Shut up,” Richie answered, but he was smiling too as he led them to the side and then to the front again. “My mom may have showed me a few steps,” he admitted after a moment. </p><p>“Oh my God,” Eddie crooned. He thumbed up the back of Richie’s neck, under his curls, skin against skin. “That’s so pathetically adorable.”</p><p>“Shut up!” Richie said again. He tugged Eddie closer, and so Eddie went closer, and closer, until he had his face tucked right near the safety-pinned rose petal. He was proud of it for hanging in there that long. Richie went on, “I <em>tried</em> to practice with you, but nooo.” </p><p>Eddie snorted. Richie <em>had</em> tried to practice with him, hadn’t he? </p><p>Something, some important thought swirled at the back of Eddie’s mind, but it slid away too fast and left a heavy, barbed feeling hanging in its wake. He held Richie closer, and Richie held him tighter, and the heaviness went away. He tried to file the holding-Richie solution away for future use. </p><p>“I don’t think I told you how nice you look,” Richie murmured after a while of them swaying easily. The song had changed sometime in the middle of Eddie holding Richie and Richie holding him back, but they were still swaying against each other. Richie’s breath came out hot against Eddie’s neck. </p><p>He wanted more. </p><p>And suddenly, three drinks in, he remembered that he had been <em>wanting</em> all night, the whole time he'd known Richie. He wouldn’t get more. The heavy feeling spiked home into his chest, and his good mood turned back to sour so quickly that it made his head spin. The whole room spun, in fact, and he stepped backwards. </p><p>“I’m not your boyfriend,” Eddie said. He nearly spat the words; they tasted like bile as they skittered off his tongue. He’d wanted to say it tactfully, as a gentle reminder that it wasn’t fair at all for Richie to <em>tease</em> him like this while knowing <em>he</em> didn’t want the way that Eddie <em>wanted</em>. </p><p>Apparently, he missed tactful by a mile. Richie flinched. </p><p>“Fuck, Eddie, we were having such a nice moment,” Richie said, almost to himself. Eddie tried not to feel like the words were digging into him. Eddie was real fucking good at ruining nice moments. Richie went on, “I know that I’m—” he sighed and tried again, his hands still tight on Eddie’s waist though now an arm’s length away. “I know that <em>this</em> isn’t what you wanted, but can we just finish the song?” </p><p>Eddie pulled his arms down. </p><p>“This isn’t a slow dance song,” he said stubbornly. </p><p>Richie’s eyes flashed. </p><p>“I want to leave,” Eddie said. The warmth of his father’s jacket suddenly seemed to stifle him, and everyone was pressing in too close, the music too loud, Richie’s eyes too cold. Eddie didn’t feel good. “I want to leave,” he said again. </p><p>Richie held his eyes, challenging like he wanted to fight, and fuck, Eddie was up for a fight. Fighting would be better than feeling so much all over that Richie didn’t <em>want him</em>. Then, Richie sighed, and the fight was over before it had really started.</p><p>“Fine,” he said. “I’ll tell the others.” And with that, he was slipping through the dancing bodies to find Bill, Stan, and Mike, leaving Eddie alone. </p><p>Eddie stared around at all the strangers, at all the people he knew but didn’t, and tried not to think. </p><p>Richie’s truck was chilled when they got out to it, and Richie was ice-cold and silent as he opened Eddie’s door and then slid in beside him. He did crank the heat on, though. </p><p>“Where do you want to go?” Richie asked as they sat, waiting for the chill to ease. Something told Eddie, the world swimming slightly at the edges of his vision, that they might be waiting forever for the chill to ease. </p><p>“Aren’t we going to Bill’s?” Eddie asked. His overnight bag was pressed against his ankle, and fuck, a bed sounded good right about then. </p><p>“No one’s at Bill’s yet,” Richie answered. He didn’t look at Eddie. He was just staring out at the fogged night and frowning. </p><p>Eddie wanted to cry and knew how freeing it would be, how it might ease the feeling of being a tire aired up and aired up until it fucking exploded. But fuck that. </p><p>“The quarry,” he said after he’d swallowed the lump. The quarry felt like the only place in the world that had never failed to make him happy. </p><p>“It’s cold,” Richie said. It wasn’t a <em>no</em>, just a reminder, but Eddie still ticked his chin up and dared even a single tear to fall down his face. Richie sighed and shifted the truck in gear. </p><p>By the time they made it to the quarry, Eddie was very glad to not be moving anymore. He was so grateful, he nearly fell out of the truck. And also, he was still very drunk. Richie was there in an instant, helping him upright. </p><p>Eddie shucked his dad’s jacket off and tossed it back in the cab. The way it clung over him just made him sad, and he was at his favorite place in the world with arguably his favorite person in the world, and he didn’t really want to ruin either of those things, even though Richie being there kind of already did that. </p><p>Eddie wanted him so much it <em>hurt</em>, even after all the bullshit. It felt immutable, wanting Richie.</p><p>He started for the cliffs, ignoring Richie telling him he <em>probably shouldn’t drink and dive, Eds.</em> Eddie cut him a glare over his shoulder and stumbled for it. His palms scraped over acorn husks, and a branch split his pants at the knee, and it mostly surprised him into cursing, but also, it hurt a little, too. Richie, even though he hated heights, was at his side in the moonlight, twenty feet above the water, in about four seconds. </p><p>“You really probably shouldn’t do this, Eds,” Richie told him gently, taking Eddie’s palm and gently scrubbing the dirt and grass off. Eddie jerked his hand away and scrambled to his feet. </p><p>“I’m going,” he said.</p><p>It felt so good to set his jaw and put his foot down, to make his own goddamn decision for once in his life</p><p>Eddie started the climb again and was surprised to hear Richie crunching up along behind him. Eddie tried not to feel pleased by his presence. </p><p>Soon enough, they were at the top of the cliff, searching out across its horizon. Eddie tried to appreciate it, the careening cliff faces and water stretching out towards the woods all around them. </p><p>Richie was standing significantly farther back. </p><p>“What?” Eddie asked, but Richie shook his head. </p><p>“Nothing. I just…” Richie swallowed, hard. “I really am afraid of heights,” he said, going a little pale. He stretched up as though to look down over the drop then shook his head again, faster. </p><p>“Sit down,” Eddie told him. “It helps.” He was very familiar with what to do in the face of fear. </p><p>He was also feeling a little unsteady on his feet himself, and at so high an altitude, it probably wasn’t a great thing. He sunk to his ass by the ledge, letting his legs dangle off. The cliff was still warm from its day in the sun, and Richie surprised him, once again, by inching ever closer and settling onto the rockface by Eddie. </p><p>Quiet stole over them, and Eddie picked up a handful of gravel. He started tossing it into the quarry one stone at a time. </p><p>“This might be my favorite place on Earth,” Eddie said. He breathed in during the time between the stone leaving his hand and it splashing into the water. The exhale he let back out was full and grounding. </p><p>“I literally cannot fathom why,” Richie answered. His voice was shaky, and when Eddie glanced over at him, he was pale in the moonlight. Eddie swallowed down the urge to kiss him. </p><p>He knew he was supposed to be angry, but he couldn’t quite remember why. He couldn't even remember if he'd been more angry at Richie or at himself. </p><p>“My whole life,” Eddie said, then swallowed. “My whole life, my mom’s tried to control me. Here…” Eddie threw the remainder of his gravel-handful into the water and listened to it tinkle against the juts of the rockface or splash their way in at the bottom. “Here, I get to decide to make the jump every time.” </p><p>Richie was staring at him when Eddie finally glanced over at him. </p><p>“What?” Eddie asked, feeling suddenly self-conscious. </p><p>“Nothing. Just…I get wanting to be in control of your life. Even for the second it takes you to decide to jump.” </p><p>“Doesn’t everyone want to be in control of their life?” </p><p>“I think so," Richie answered with a shrug. "Doesn’t mean they get to be." He gathered up his own stack of gravel and sent the whole handful sailing over the void at once. </p><p>“You don’t think you are?” Eddie asked, watching as the stones disappeared into the blackness.</p><p>Richie scoffed. Just then, a fresh set of headlights peeled in beside Richie’s truck far below. The newcomer started honking. Then, Stan, Bill, and Mike were piling out and waving at them. </p><p>“Is anybody, really?” Richie asked, staring down at their friends. Eddie could see them stripping down and racing for the shore. </p><p>Eddie blinked. </p><p>“So, take control,” Eddie said, even though it was hard for him to follow the conversation, hard for him to find it in the mess of his drunken mind. He pushed himself to his feet, swayed, kicked out of his shoes, and dropped his inhaler by the soles. “Jump. Or don’t.” Eddie stared straight out over the edge, not glancing down at Richie. “But <em>decide,</em>” and with that, Eddie leapt. </p><p>The water raced up towards him blacker, faster than maybe ever before, and he crashed into it hard. His stance was wide and sprawled, and the water was a breath-stealing cold when he plunged through the surface. It was more painful than he remembered it ever being and undoubtedly, still the best feeling in the world. Nevertheless, as he kicked his way back to the top, he made a mental-note to never jump the quarry intoxicated again. </p><p>Once he was bobbing at the surface, weighed down by his dress shirt and pants and the feeling that Richie was so, so far away, Eddie craned his neck up to look at him. </p><p>Richie was standing on the edge, draped in moonlight. He looked ethereal and mystical, and Eddie, staring up at him, cold water pouring down his back, felt something clench in him. </p><p>Somewhere, something in his mind was telling him that the moment he was in was <em>important</em>, that Richie standing up there, petrified, about to jump just because he knew how much it meant to Eddie, it would change him forever. </p><p>He let the feeling swell up in him as he tried to commit every inch of Richie to memory, the silver of his skin in the moonlight, the sheen of his hair. Eddie wanted to hold the moment forever. Then, in the part of his mind not rapidly trying to understand the feeling of seeing Richie up there, not trying to understand exactly why this moment felt so pivotally important, he heard Stan yelling, splashing closer. </p><p>“Richie!” Stan was screaming. The terror, so real, so visceral in his voice tore Eddie out of his head all together, his heart lurching immediately into his throat. “Richie, what the fuck are you doing?! Get down!”</p><p>“He’s fine, Stan,” Eddie said, frowning over at him in the water, willing the panic brought out by Stan's fear to <em>settle</em>. “We make that jump all the time.” </p><p>Stan’s eyes were wide, horrified to his core and never pulling away from Richie. Bill and Mike were racing towards them, equally petrified looks on both of their faces. Eddie was struggling to make it all fit, struggling to bite down his own impending horror. He didn't know what it was, but something was <em>wrong</em>.  </p><p>Richie was standing up on the ledge, shedding his clothes, stretching out that heavy, important moment, and all three of them in the water were shouting for him to get down, and Eddie was scared by how <em>scared</em> they were. </p><p>“He’s fine!” Eddie shouted again. He needed them to stop screaming almost as much as he needed it to be true that Richie was fine. His chest was tight with dread. </p><p>Stan whipped around on him.</p><p>“What the fuck are you talking about?! He’s got a <em>heart condition!</em> ” he screeched at Eddie. </p><p>And just like that, Eddie felt the breath leave him. The dread-terror in his chest coiled and bloomed, spread out from under his ribs and slammed through his veins. </p><p>Richie had a heart condition. </p><p>Richie leapt.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>(me,, evilly laughing at posting a chapter that's about twice as long as usual but ending it with this cliff-hanger: it's cool.)</p><p>Please come yell at me about how mad you are. I cherish every angry comment&lt;3</p><p>If anyone's wondering about the song playing while they practice-dance, it's <a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/3OS4XXm4S42pnESQmtN9MG?si=P-b0x-SETaqpOzlcLh1-kg">here</a>, and boy, is it ever a pining teenage anthem.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which everyone regrets playing Monopoly.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tws: underage drinking, contemplation of death (relating to Richie's heart), truly abhorrent measures of self-worth</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div>
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    <em>September ‘93</em>
 
</p>
</div><p>Richie had made that jump a dozen times. He made it when the defibs jolted him alive at four. Made it looking up into his dad’s eyes after another transplant fell through. Made it in loving Eddie. It was all the same, all the same terror, all the same uncertainty, as pure and definite as the black, stone-faced water rushing up towards him, his screams mixing with those of his friends. </p><p>It was the same, except learning he was going to die didn’t feel like crashing into cement when his legs splayed. </p><p>The water sucked him under, and his heart slammed in panic. </p><p>There was a moment, with the drag of his body and suction of the water pulling him down and down and down, moonlight shattering to pieces before it could reach him, that Richie had to face the reality that it didn’t matter how mentally prepared he claimed he was for death.</p><p>It was barreling towards him either way, and he was still desperately unwilling to give it all up. </p><p>His body, however, seemed in fervent agreement. Even without Richie's conscious brain screaming, <em>Kick! Fucking fight! Claw your way to the surface and breathe, goddamn it!</em>, his body, aching, desperate thing that it was, <em>did</em>. The world blew into halfway-focus around him. </p><p>He’d barely sucked in a gasping breath before there were eight arms practically shoving him back under. </p><p>“You unbelievable fucking asshole!” Eddie’s voice, right against his neck, angry, and <em>fuck</em>, Richie didn’t want to die. </p><p>“I swear to God, it’s like you want to die!” Stan, terrified, shaking. He didn’t, he didn’t want to die. </p><p>“Jesus, are you okay?” Mike, behind him. No, no, he didn’t want to leave them.</p><p>“You s-s-scared us.” Bill, slurred. Not yet, not yet, please.</p><p>Richie couldn’t see any of them, his vision suddenly blurry and tears in his eyes, but the four of them were somehow suspending him in the top layer of water at the same time as they ensured he had to crane his neck all the way back to gasp in a breath. All ten of their knees knocked as they doggy-paddled.</p><p>“I can’t see,” Richie said. He tried to swipe around for his glasses before remembering he’d worn contacts, and evidently, at least one of his contacts—maybe both, it was hard to tell—had exploded out when he’d crashed into the water. “Or breathe,” he gasped. The water was lapping at his lips, and his friends were clinging to him. </p><p>They sprung away, all except Eddie. </p><p>Eddie had his arms around him, and Richie could feel him scowling against his neck. </p><p>“You scared the hell out of me,” Eddie said, his voice muffled by the water and the rasp of Richie’s skin. </p><p>Richie’s arms came up around him, tears still in his eyes, and they bobbed down. They held on. </p><p>“You just did it. Why were you scared?” Richie asked, trying for levity even as his voice cracked. Eddie was clinging to him, and his heart—the damned thing—was pounding, hard and painful, and Richie held onto Eddie. </p><p>“Shut up,” Eddie growled, squeezing him impossibly tighter. "I'm so fucking pissed at you, right now." </p><p>Richie swallowed.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he murmured against Eddie. Eddie squeezed him tighter, tighter, then pushed away. Richie, down—he’d decided—one contact, couldn’t be sure, but he thought Eddie wiped a suspiciously-tear-located drop off his cheek before he glared up at the sky. Richie’s chest clenched tighter. </p><p>“Personally,” Mike said. His voice made Richie jump. He’d forgotten his friends were still swimming within kicking distance. Mike went on, “I’ve had quite enough fun for tonight.” </p><p>“Agreed,” Stan spat. When Richie turned to look at him, he was glaring. Richie didn’t need his glasses to know that that was an I-could-actually-strangle-you-you-self-endangering-sack-of-shit look. And yeah, Richie <em>had</em> just leapt off a cliff with a heart condition that could realistically kill him at any given moment—please, <em>please</em> not yet—but Richie wanted to <em>live</em>. He wanted to tear his teeth into it and shake, practically feral with the feeling of wanting something so much. </p><p>“Slumber party a-a-at mine?” Bill suggested. Stan cut his glare at Richie short to nod at his boyfriend. </p><p>Richie, wantingwantingwantingdesperate, tried to catch Eddie’s eye, but he was still staring up. </p><p>The five of them swam to shore, and Mike—the dear—offered to traipse the cliffside to grab the clothes and shoes they’d discarded at the top while Eddie rung himself out and Stan and Bill drip-dried. </p><p>Eddie still wouldn’t look at him. Which was fine, of course. Eddie didn’t owe him the pleasure of his gaze. But Richie would have liked it, would have liked to know that he hadn’t terrified Eddie into hating him for the rest of their lives, no matter how short that may be for Richie. That’d be a pretty shitty way to leave the world. </p><p>By the time Mike came back, everyone had hauled on clothes from their over-night bags and were relatively dry. Mike tossed Richie his clothes and shoes and turned to do the same as Richie fought the last of his contacts out and slipped his glasses on. </p><p>“You can ride with us if you want, Mike,” Stan said after Mike was dressed. </p><p>“No,” Eddie cut in, before Mike could answer. Richie raised his eyebrows at Eddie, but Eddie—for the first time in what felt like hours—was already looking at him, glaring. He suddenly regretted digging his glasses out of his bag. </p><p>“Er, alright,” Mike said. He zipped his bag back up and tossed it in the bed of Richie’s truck. </p><p>“I call window seat,” Eddie said. </p><p>“Sure,” Mike said, but he didn’t sound comfortable with it. Richie, feeling like he'd been seared into a raw nerve with the crushing knowledge of exactly how <em>much</em> he wanted to live and how much of that <em>living</em> included Eddie, tried not to be hurt by the request. It didn't really work.</p><p>The rush he'd felt from the jump, the soft, tentative peace they'd shared at the cliff's edge after the sharp ache of the dance, the hope it had stirred in him, all of it soured, singed and crumpled down like plastic over a flame.</p><p>Eddie'd been saying it for days. He <em>wasn't</em> Richie's boyfriend. Hell, Richie wasn't even sure if Eddie wanted to be his <em>friend</em>, at this point. Maybe he'd finally done the smart thing and decided that the Trashmouth wasn't worth the trouble of keeping in his life. The thought left him impossibly, achingly sad. </p><p>All he could do was swallow down the rush of bile, crawl into the truck, and crank it up. </p><p>Eddie slid in after Mike and slammed the door. </p><p>Richie followed Stan to Bill’s house in what may have been the most uncomfortable silence of his life. He wasn’t good with silences on a good day, but after the day he’d had, Richie felt like it was eating him alive. He was cavernous and anxious, like he was driving at 150 miles-per-hour in the pitch black, windows down.</p><p>Bill’s parents and Georgie were already asleep by the time they got there, which was great, because Bill was at least 65% still drunk, and Eddie, Richie would guess, was hovering right at 48%. Not that Richie had had a particularly large amount of practice around drunk people, but still. </p><p>They set up camp in the basement, where Bill and Mike set up the projector for whatever movie Stan had rented. Richie claimed a spot on the sofa, and Eddie sat as far away as the room physically allowed. Seriously. He fucking picked up one of the beanbag chairs on the floor and dragged it away. </p><p>Apparently, semi-drunk Eddie was a fully-petty Eddie, and if said pettiness were directed at anyone other than him, Richie would probably laugh. As it were, it kind of made Richie's spine itch. Kind of made him want to put an end to the whole dizzying night and just go the fuck to bed. </p><p>They watched half of <em>Stand by Me</em>, then pulled out a Monopoly board—because apparently there wasn’t already enough tension swirling around in the room—which at least made Eddie move closer, even if he snatched the tiny car right out of Richie’s fingers to claim as his own piece. </p><p>“Never mind that I’m the one that actually has a car,” Richie grumbled, picking up the shoe instead. </p><p>“You have a truck, dipshit,” Eddie snapped and slammed the car down onto the board.</p><p>“Semantics, Edwina,” Richie answered and put his piece down almost as forcefully as Eddie had. </p><p>Richie thought he knew why Eddie was pissed at him—self-endangering-sack-of-shit sprung first to mind, though Eddie didn't know exactly how apt that was—and had a running, near-inexhaustible list of back-up reasons, but as justified as he was sure Eddie's temper was, it hardly stopped him from meeting the energy in kind. He was fucking exhausted, mentally, physically, a coiled spring after the whirlwind of the dance and the jump and, not the least of which, because he loved Eddie and loving him fucking <em>hurt</em> a lot of the time. </p><p>“Good thing they’re metal,” Mike mumbled as he set his own piece—the top hat, because of course—down with a perfectly reasonable level of force. Stan and Bill snorted and followed suit. </p><p>“Good thing my parents a-a-are heavy sleepers,” Bill said. </p><p>Eddie just glared at Richie over the game board and continued to do so long after Mike had doled out their starter cash and they’d started collecting properties. </p><p>It didn’t take long to devolve from a Richie-only glare into a Richie-only rage. </p><p>“You can’t put more houses on there than you can fit in the colored part!” Eddie shouted, motioning emphatically to the set of houses Richie was trying—and failing—to stack on top of one another. </p><p>“Hence, the stacking! It’s a hotel!” Richie shouted back. His “hotel” fell. He blew out a frustrated breath and began restacking.</p><p>“So, buy a hotel!” Eddie slashed his arm toward the neat row of hotels on his own properties, and Richie glared at them.</p><p>“I can’t <em>afford</em> a hotel. I’ve got like fourteen dollars!”</p><p>“Then put it on another fucking property, and don’t be a cock!”</p><p>“This is the only property I’ve got, Craps-brak!” </p><p>“<em>Craps</em>-brak? <em>Really?</em>”</p><p>“You’re not technically supposed to put houses on a property until you’ve got all of that color,” Mike added. He was slumped on the ground, his head in his hand, watching Eddie and Richie argue. Eddie waved his arm toward Mike.</p><p>“Fucking <em>see?!</em> I told you!” </p><p>“Shut the fuck up,” Richie said. It was really to both of them, but he didn’t look up from his stack. He was pissed, because fucking Monopoly, man, and also, fucking Eddie, man. It was bound to happen. Still, by miracle of miracles, the houses balanced into a “hotel”. </p><p>Then, Eddie was reaching out and shaking the board. Game pieces went sliding across the coffee table, skittered to the floor.</p><p>“Jesus Christ,” Stan groaned. </p><p>“You’re such a little shit!” Richie shouted at Eddie’s dumb smug face. </p><p>“My dad’s g-g-got whiskey hidden down here," Bill cut in, looking for all the world like he wanted to be anywhere else. "Do you g-guys want some?”  </p><p>“Yes,” Stan and Mike both immediately said. </p><p>Bill shoved himself to his feet.</p><p>“Rich? Eddie?” he asked, though neither were looking away from the other. </p><p>“No,” Richie answered. Eddie scoffed.</p><p>“Oh, sure. Wouldn’t want to do anything to jeopardize your <em>heart</em>, would you, Rich?” Eddie snarled. </p><p>“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Richie snapped back, but Stan was already cutting in.</p><p>“Just leave it, Eddie,” he said. </p><p>“No, it’s fucking unfair!” Eddie shouted, and as pissed as Richie was, Eddie’s anger wasn’t fitting into the any of the many reasons Richie had hypothesized. It made him even more frustrated. He couldn’t fight back if he didn’t really know why they were fighting. </p><p>Just then, Bill reappeared with a whiskey bottle, its top already off. He passed it to Mike, and Mike took a long pull before handing it off to Stan. Stan followed suit, then spluttered a good drizzle of it back up onto their ruined game board.</p><p>“Fuck,” Stan wheezed, offering the bottle back to Bill. Eddie, however, snatched it from the air before it could get to him.</p><p>“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” Richie asked, not bothering to hide the contempt in his voice. Eddie held his eyes as he drank, even managed to choke down the gag long enough to round out the non-verbal-fuck-you he was giving Richie. </p><p>Then, to top it off and because apparently, he was feeling <em>extra</em> like a bastard that day, Eddie flipped him the bird and spat out a, “Fuck you." </p><p>Richie stared at him, pissed off and anxious and just plain fucking <em>sad</em>.</p><p>“Fuck this,” Richie decided after a beat. He pushed himself to his feet. “I’m going to bed.” </p><p>“Are you fucking serious?” Eddie asked. He had the gall to sound genuinely incredulous.</p><p>“Yeah, Eddie,” Richie bit. “I am. I’m tired, and this, no thanks to you, has been one hell of a shitty night.” Richie turned towards the stairs, ready to stomp up them and crash, when Eddie’s voice slashed out towards him. </p><p>“<em>Me</em>?! How the fuck was this shitty night <em>my</em> fault?!” Eddie screeched. There was a clamoring of bodies and furniture, and then, Eddie’s footsteps pounding up the stairs after Richie. </p><p>“Dibs on the couch!” Mike called. </p><p>“Oh, fuck you!” Richie answered.</p><p>“Respect the dibs, man,” Mike shot back, and fuck, Richie was not at all happy about it, but the rule of dibs was sacred. </p><p>Which, of course, meant he would be sharing the guest bedroom with Eddie. </p><p>Eddie, who was still fuming at Richie’s heel. </p><p>“I don’t care how heavy of a sleeper Bill’s parents are. You’re gonna wake them stomping around like that,” Richie threw over his shoulder at Eddie.</p><p>“Oh, sick fucking burn, Richard,” Eddie snapped. </p><p>They burst out into the kitchen, and Richie started power-walking. He didn’t really know why, just that he was angry and had a lot of pent-up emotions swirling around in him. Eddie, it seemed, did too. Except he skipped straight past power-walking and dove into a full-out sprint. Richie broke into a run after him, shoving at Eddie when Eddie shoved him, until they were fighting against each other to get through the bedroom door.</p><p>“You’re being fucking ridiculous!” Eddie snapped, finally shoving Richie out of the way to be the first into the room. </p><p>“Me?!” Richie answered in nearly the exact same tone of voice Eddie had used three minutes earlier when Richie said it was <em>Eddie’s</em> fault the night had been shitty. Not that he was wrong, exactly. </p><p>“Yes, <em>you</em>,” Eddie hissed, dropping his voice and motioning wildly towards the door. “And now, you’re being a fucking loudmouth on top of your already-trashmouth.”</p><p>“Oh! Oh, fuck you. Fine,” Richie snapped. He threw his hands up in the air. “Get in the bed. I’m going to sleep.” He snapped the light off and tossed his glasses. </p><p>“Don’t tell me what to do,” Eddie shot back.</p><p>“Fine, don’t get in the bed. I’ll take the whole thing for myself, and you can sleep on the goddamn floor.” Richie started ripping back blankets and sheets and had just snatched up a pillow to lob at Eddie on the floor when Eddie met him across the bed.</p><p>“Like hell I will,” he growled, then started yanking back the covers on his own side. </p><p>Richie rolled his eyes and crawled in, Eddie huffing in behind him. They laid on their sides away from one another, not touching, not speaking, just breathing angrily. </p><p>“Can you not steal all the goddamn covers?” Eddie snapped, jerking the blankets away from Richie. </p><p>“Can you not talk while I’m trying to fucking sleep?” Richie asked, jerking the covers back. </p><p>“Can you not act like an asshole?” </p><p>“Can <em>you</em> not?” </p><p>“Can you just go the fuck to sleep?” Eddie tugged on the covers again and kicked backwards at Richie.</p><p>“Oh, you’re gonna fucking kick me, now?” Richie whipped around to glare at Eddie. Eddie was adamantly not looking at Richie, hunched in on himself, looking so small. </p><p>“Go to sleep!” Eddie said. He kicked back again, but it wasn’t so sharp. </p><p>Richie sighed and stared up at the blur of the ceiling, the blur of the moonlight cast up through the shades. </p><p>“Goodnight, Eddie,” Richie murmured and let the exhaustion of the day pull him under. </p><p>He awoke sometime later, the dark still pressing in around him, to his arm completely numb. He spent a confused half-second trying to figure out why, then he glanced down and realized that Eddie was asleep on his chest, drooling, his arms tight around Richie’s middle. </p><p>Richie’s heart kicked sharp and long in his chest. He was still pissed, but Eddie was warm and soft and drooling on him, somehow each reaching for the other in the night. Richie was still pissed, but he’d never gotten to hold Eddie like this, and Richie loved him so much it hurt. </p><p>He wanted to live in that moment forever.</p><p>He shifted his arm <em>just a little</em>, just trying to pool blood back down to his fingers so he could settle back into a guilty sleep at how much he loved holding Eddie, but it was too much. </p><p>Eddie’s eyes snapped open, and instead of nuzzling back down the way Richie so desperately hoped he would, he immediately grimaced. </p><p>Then, he wrenched away from Richie and yanked every inch of the comforter for himself, like his visceral rejection wasn’t enough of a punishment. </p><p>Richie, caught in a pure moment of shock, stared blankly at the angry hunch of Eddie’s shoulders. His heart trilled in his chest, and all he could think was how much he loved Eddie and what absolute bullshit that was. He couldn’t handle it, couldn’t handle the pettiness, the hot-cold of it all. He could handle friends, actually, genuinely friends. He could handle pining, fuck, he could even handle fighting. But waking up holding him, everything he ever wanted, only to have Eddie rip away and stomp on his heart? He couldn’t. He’d take stone-cold silence over the crippling belief that he somehow had a shot.</p><p>“Fuck this,” Richie said, for the second time that night, and heaved himself out of the bed. He shoved his glasses on his face and flung the door open. </p><p>“Where are you going?” Richie heard Eddie hiss at him.</p><p>“I’m going home,” Richie answered. He made a beeline for the stairs and wasn’t four steps down before he heard Eddie racing after him again. </p><p>“Are you serious, right now?” Eddie asked. “You’re leaving just because I stole the covers?” </p><p>“Yep,” Richie answered, even though he wasn’t. </p><p>“Bullshit,” Eddie spat. They broke into the living room, and Mike jolted but didn’t rise. </p><p>“Fine,” Richie said. He still didn’t turn around. </p><p>“Would you stop?!” Eddie hissed. Richie didn’t. He scooped his bag and shoes off the living room floor and stepped through the front door. </p><p>Eddie followed him outside, followed him to his truck. Richie tried to open his door, but Eddie’s hand snapped out against it. </p><p>“Fucking <em>stop</em>, Richie!” Eddie yelled. </p><p>When Richie gave in and looked over at Eddie, he saw the hard push of Eddie’s breath, the tears in his eyes, and Richie’s heart clenched. </p><p>“I’m tired,” Richie said. He tossed his shit into the back and slumped against the frame of his truck. </p><p>“So, come back to bed,” Eddie said. If Richie didn’t know better, he’d say Eddie was pleading. Richie swallowed, looked away. The asphalt dug into his bare feet. </p><p>“I really just don’t feel up to it,” Richie mumbled. Maybe it was a cop-out. Fine. He’d cop out, tap out, give out. It was too painful. </p><p>Beautiful boys like Eddie made his life precarious, and Richie was just there to leave a beautiful corpse. </p><p>Eddie’s pleading eyes turned sharp.</p><p>“That is such bullshit, and you know it,” Eddie spat. </p><p>Richie huffed and scrubbed his hands down his face. There was no way he could explain it to Eddie and make him understand. And more, Eddie had made it perfectly clear all night, all week, the entire time that Richie had known him, that he didn’t <em>want</em> to be a part of the discussion. </p><p>“Fine,” Richie said, throwing his hands up, then opening his door again. He slid inside before Eddie could stop him, but he didn’t manage to make it out of Bill’s driveway before Eddie was ripping open the passenger door and clambering in beside him. </p><p>“You’re not fucking running away from me, you dick,” Eddie snarled, glaring at him across the truck bench.</p><p>“Me?!”</p><p>“Yes, <em>you!</em> I’m trying to talk to you, and you’re just shoving me away!”</p><p>Mike’s words at the quarry so long ago echoed around in his mind…<em>The people that care about you, the people that </em>love you<em>? We want every second we can get. Don’t push us away.</em></p><p>Richie swallowed.</p><p>“You’ve been pushing me away for weeks, Eddie. What the fuck am I supposed to do?” Richie asked, staring forward through the windshield and working his jaw. </p><p>“How have <em>I</em> been pushing you away?”</p><p>“You literally pushed me away five minutes ago in bed!” Richie answered, flinging an arm towards the still-sleeping form of Bill’s house.</p><p>“<em>That’s</em> why you’re pissed?! Because I didn’t want to cuddle with you?!” </p><p>“It’s not about the cud—God, fuck! I’m not doing this. I’m not fucking doing this.” Richie cranked the truck. “Get out.” </p><p>“No, fuck you! See! See, that is <em>exactly</em> what I’m talking about. The <em>minute</em> things get serious, you rip away like I’m fucking electrocuting you or some shit!” </p><p>“I’m serious, Eddie. I’m leaving. Get out.”</p><p>“No! You’re not going to run away from me.”</p><p>Eddie glared at him with his whole face pinched up in anger. </p><p>Richie couldn’t even remember why they were fighting in the first place. It seemed like it had lingered a lifetime, and Richie was so tired. </p><p>“I just want to go home,” Richie sighed. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the headrest. </p><p>Eddie was silent, and Richie, never good in the best of silences, felt this one in his gut like battery acid. </p><p>After a long time of sitting in Richie’s idling truck, Eddie finally broke the silence. </p><p>“Why didn’t you tell me about your heart condition?” </p><p>Richie’s stomach dropped so quick he thought he might throw up. He wrenched his eyes open and whipped around to stare at Eddie. </p><p>“What?” Richie croaked. He felt the blood ringing in his ears. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Eddie <em>knew</em>. God, no wonder he’s pissed. No wonder he didn’t want to be with Richie. No one wants to be tricked into caring about someone who’s dying. </p><p>Richie tried to swallow down the lump, tried to breathe. Eddie refused to let him look away. </p><p>“You lied to me,” Eddie said. He sounded tired, too. The clock on the dash said it was 4:18 in the morning. The sun wasn’t even up, but there they were, sitting in Richie’s piece-of-shit truck, trying to figure it all out.  </p><p>“Who told you?” Richie asked, but Eddie just shook his head.</p><p>“You fucking jumped at the quarry,” Eddie said. He sounded sad. Sounded scared.</p><p>Richie <em>hated</em> that sound. He didn’t need Eddie’s pity, and he sure as shit didn’t want it.</p><p>“You should have told me,” Eddie said. </p><p>“Why?” Richie spat. “So you could coddle me? So you could treat me like I’m fragile?” Eddie’s eyes went hard, and Richie rolled right on, his voice rising, “Like I’m the poor fucker sick kid to be bubble-wrapped and goddamn pitied? No thanks, man. I was enjoying being treated like an actual human being for once.” </p><p>“Fuck you, if you think that’s how I’d have treated you, Richie,” Eddie hissed. “Me? My mom’s been telling me I’m sick for <em>years,</em> treating me like I’d break if the wind blew too hard.” </p><p>“That’s different.”</p><p>“How is that any different at all?”</p><p>“Because you’re <em>not</em> sick!” </p><p>“Yeah, I know I’m not, asshole, but I still know that’s not how you treat people!” Eddie’s eyes were still hard, but under them, no matter his stupid, placating words, there it was. That fucking pity, and when he spoke again, it was all over his voice. “And I know that you can’t just out-stubborn your way out of a bad heart. You’re not fragile, but you can’t do it all. That stupid jump could have <em>killed you</em>, Rich. And for what?” Eddie asked. His voice cracked. </p><p>Richie fucking <em>hated</em> it. <em>For you, dickhead</em>, he thought viciously, <em>for me, for one second that I could just live.</em> He hated the pity, hated the guilt, hated the weight of knowing he would hurt everyone he loved. </p><p>“You think I don’t know that, man? Jesus, why does it even fucking matter?” Richie felt bile rising up in his throat and used it to fuel the nastiness in his voice. “You’re not my boyfriend. Remember?” </p><p>Eddie’s response was immediate, visceral rage. That was fine. Richie could deal with rage. Rage was a million times better than that fucking pity. </p><p>“You’re a piece of shit for that one, Richie,” Eddie spat, too sharp in the closeness of Richie’s truck. Richie whipped around to face him.</p><p>“How the fuck does that make me a piece of shit? You don’t just get to sit there and act like I hurt your feelings by not telling you about my dumb fucking heart!”</p><p>“You should have told me!”</p><p>“Why?!” Richie reached out to clench his hands on the steering wheel. “You’re <em>not</em> my boyfriend!” </p><p>“Well, maybe I fucking want to be!” </p><p>Eddie’s words rang out over the grumble of the truck’s engine, and all he could do was stare, open-mouthed, at Eddie, at the still-heaving puffs of air leaving him. There was so much raging around inside him, too much to sift through, joy and guilt and pain from his dumb fucking heart, and so, Richie stared at him, at the angry pinch of his mouth, the heat in his eyes, the way his whole body was careening towards Richie like there was nothing in the world he could do to stop it. </p><p>It was scary. Terrifying, how much he wanted him and the thought—nearly incomprehensible—that Eddie wanted him <em>too</em>. Richie was terror-frozen on the spot, his thoughts one long, rolling tremor of, <em>Holy hell, Eddie</em> wants<em> me</em>, and, <em>Holy hell, I can't fucking do that to him.</em></p><p>All the words, the <em>yes, yes, yes</em>, died in his throat, choked out by the grief of knowing he'd gone and planted in Eddie the rot of caring about him and had let it fester for far too long. Selfish. Stupid. And now, Eddie would pay the price. </p><p>Eddie’s breaths came hard and harsh, and all Richie could do was watch, helpless, the moment, the <em>moment</em> he that realized Richie was scared too shitless of what would come after, of hurting him. It flickered in his eyes, like a fire dying all at once. His lips trembled. </p><p>“Right,” Eddie murmured softly and pushed open the door. </p><p>And, fuck. <em>Fuck!</em> There was a whole new guilt seeping through him at the horrible, <em>broken</em> look on Eddie's face. The <em>yes, yes, yes!</em> was terror-sieged in his throat, and crashing into all the guilt like shards of glass was the gut-wrenching realization that it didn't fucking matter at all. No, now, no matter what he fucking did, no matter what he didn't do, no matter how scared he was, Eddie would <em>hurt</em>. </p><p>He didn’t have the <em>time</em> to live his life in fear. Time was a luxury he just did not fucking have. He had to jump, or not. Had to decide, right now, if <em>this</em> would ever be enough. </p><p>Richie’s arm shot out and slammed the truck door closed, and before Eddie could protest, Richie hooked him around the neck and yanked him in, mouths crashing together. </p><p>Teeth clacked, lips burst, messy and desperate, and Richie didn’t care who let out the pitiful whimper, because he licked it up just the same. Richie was kissing him, storm raging full-force and terrified and desperate, so fucking selfishly desperate inside him. Eddie was kissing him back.</p><p>He tasted blood and sleep and <em>Eddie</em>, and all Richie could think was that he was finally, <em>finally</em> kissing Eddie Kaspbrak’s stupid beautiful mouth, and he was still <em>so</em> fucking scared. Then, Eddie’s hands were coming up searingly hot and hungry against Richie’s face and hair and neck, and suddenly, Richie settled.</p><p>There was time for this.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Okay so… that happened! Finally!!! Go scream in the comments!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Eddie wins a purple mongoose but still manages to ruin the night.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tws: internalized homophobia, references to domestic abuse, slurs, mild panic attack</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div>
  <p>
  
    <em>September ‘93</em>
 
</p>
</div><p>In hindsight, Eddie should have expected that their first kiss would be in the middle of them yelling at each other. </p><p>Only, in reality, Eddie had pretty much resigned himself to the fact that there wouldn’t <em>be</em> a first kiss. Or a second. Or a third. (There was. Eddie could barely breathe.)</p><p>And more, it seemed like Richie had resigned himself to the same. </p><p>“I can’t believe this,” he said against Eddie’s mouth. His hands were greedy on Eddie, sliding into his hair, down the sides of his neck, down his back. Eddie felt like he was being lit up all over. He’d been waiting his whole life to kiss someone the way Richie was kissing him. He’d been waiting his whole life to kiss someone who made him feel the way Richie made him feel. </p><p>“Shut up,” Eddie answered into Richie’s lips. He felt invincible, reckless, kicking a leg over Richie’s thighs and sliding into the space between his front and the steering wheel, mouths never parting. Richie was a much better kisser when he wasn’t talking. Fuck, he was kissing Richie. Fuck, he was in Richie’s lap. Fuck, Richie was gripping his thighs in a way that made Eddie think he might actually explode. </p><p>“I’m so dumb,” Richie said. He pressed a kiss to Eddie’s chin, his jaw, his throat. “God, I’m so fucking dumb. I’m so sorry.” Eddie could feel the rumble of his voice straight through his spine.</p><p>“Doesn’t matter,” Eddie said, then tugged Richie back to his lips. He felt like an addict, sealed his mouth over Richie’s again. </p><p>“Does,” Richie murmured, then groaned when Eddie licked into his mouth. “Fuck, Eds. I’m trying to apologize here.”</p><p>Eddie bit at Richie’s lip.</p><p>“Goddamn it, Richie. What’s it gonna take for you to shut the fuck up and let me kiss you?” </p><p>“Eddie,” Richie breathed, and something in his voice, something hesitant and serious threw a bucket of ice down Eddie’s back. He slid sideways off Richie’s lap, then fought the urge to jump right back on when he saw how mussed up and raw Richie looked. Eddie swallowed.</p><p>“I swear to God,” Eddie said measuredly. “If you’re about to tell me you were just seizing the moment and don’t actually want this, I’ll never forgive you.” </p><p>The threat was real. The fear was real. Eddie couldn’t handle that. </p><p>Then, Richie was gathering Eddie’s hand in his own.</p><p>“God, no, Eds, I l—” His voice cracked. He swallowed and tried again. “I like you, Eddie. Fuck. I like you a lot.” </p><p>Eddie felt himself redden all over.</p><p>“What are you, twelve?” Eddie asked, and Richie cut him a crooked grin. </p><p>Eddie couldn’t help himself. He leaned forward and kissed him again. Because apparently that was something he could do now. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” Richie said once Eddie was able to drag himself away again. “I probably made you feel like shit with the whole fake-boyfriend thing.” </p><p>Eddie looked away, and Richie squeezed his hand.</p><p>“It wasn’t my favorite experience,” he mumbled. </p><p>“I was scared and…and I thought you didn’t want me,” Richie murmured after a beat. Eddie’s eyes flicked back to him, ready to refute it, but then, Richie was speaking again. “I’m still scared. You shouldn’t want me, Eds. Especially now that you know that my heart…well, I’ll only hurt you.” </p><p>All Eddie could do was stare at Richie, at his downcast eyes, the quiver of his lips, his hands wringing round and round Eddie’s fingers. Richie didn’t <em>get it.</em> He didn’t get how incredible he was, how the room came to life when he stepped into it, how Eddie had never felt, well, <em>anything</em> before him. He couldn’t, not if he doubted even for a second that Eddie wanted every piece of him, bullshit heart and all. </p><p>Eddie closed his fist around Richie’s anxious fingers, and Richie glanced up. His eyes were wet, and he didn’t look away. He just let Eddie look. Eddie swallowed. </p><p>“I want you, Richie,” he whispered. And then, because he could, he hooked a hand around the back of Richie’s neck and reeled him in until their foreheads pressed together. “I want this. Whatever you’ll give me. However you’ll take me.” </p><p>Richie stared back at Eddie in silence for a long while, then he nudged their noses together. </p><p>Then, because he’s Richie, Eddie shouldn’t have been surprised when he drew up a wolfish grin. </p><p>“I’ll take you right here,” he said weakly, snapping his teeth. </p><p>Eddie snorted and shoved Richie’s face away. </p><p>“I take it back. I hate you,” he said, shouldering the door open. Richie laughed and turned the truck off before racing after Eddie. (Not that Eddie was in any particular hurry to get away from him.) Richie slung his arm around Eddie’s shoulder and tugged him close. They crossed to Bill’s front porch barefoot, side-by-side. </p><p>“You don’t,” Richie said. He nosed along Eddie’s cheekbone, and he was right. Eddie most certainly did not hate Richard Tozier. </p><p>“Whatever,” Eddie said. It was hard not to smile. </p><p>Eddie saw Mike peek open an eye as they tiptoed back across the living room, choking down giggles. Mike took half a second to consider the sight of them, sneaking back in clinging to one another, before flinging his arm up over his eyes. </p><p>“Thank fuck,” he sighed. </p><p>“Hey, shut up,” Richie said. Mike’s grin shone beneath his forearm.</p><p>Their climb up the stairs was much quieter the second time around without them whisper-yelling at one another—Eddie made a mental note to buy Bill’s parents a fruit basket—but what was maybe most surprising to Eddie was the fact that he wasn’t scared at all, not then. He was being brave, holding Richie’s hand, and Richie was smiling back over his shoulder as they made their way up the stairs, and Eddie just wanted to hold him. He wanted to wake up and nuzzle closer, not feel the nasty urge to jerk away like he’d done before. </p><p>The door whispered closed, and Richie stood with his shoulder-blades pressed against it, grinning at Eddie. </p><p>“Are you coming?” Eddie asked. He’d crawled into bed as soon as he could. </p><p>“Let’s go on a date,” Richie said. His hair was all mussed from sleep and—the thought sent a trill down Eddie’s spine—Eddie’s hands, and he’d never looked so beautiful, so alive. </p><p>“It’s like five in the morning. Can it wait until later?” Eddie asked, grinning. He scrubbed his arm down the empty sheets beside him, and Richie leapt, landing half on Eddie with a great <em>whoomp</em> and giggling all the while. </p><p>“The Canal Days Festival is this weekend,” Richie said once he’d successfully wrangled his limbs around Eddie and was able to gaze up at him from Eddie’s chest. Eddie did not mind the view at all. </p><p>“God,” Eddie groaned. “Think of all the germs.”</p><p>“You know I love it when you talk dirty to me, Eds,” Richie said. Then, he stretched forward and kissed Eddie, despite all the showiness of his words, it was soft, and it was sweet, and Eddie wanted to never, ever get used to the feeling. He brought a hand up to scrape soft against Richie’s skull. </p><p>“Fine,” Eddie said against Richie’s lips. Richie hummed and broke the kiss to settle back against Eddie’s chest. Eddie pushed through his curls, thinking he’d never be able to sleep with that electric feeling rattling around in him. Then, Richie tugged his arms tighter around Eddie, some kind of home he'd never known, and Eddie was asleep in minutes. </p><p>A few hours later, the first thing Eddie did, upon opening his eyes and seeing Richie Tozier asleep in the bed beside him, was smile. He shifted gently so as not to wake him, then pressed a soft kiss to the corner of Richie’s mouth. Richie didn’t stir, so Eddie pressed another into the hollow of his cheek, against the curve of his jaw, the column of his throat. </p><p>He lingered there at his neck for a moment, just watching the near-translucent skin jitter with his pulse. He leaned close. </p><p>“Don’t you give out on me,” he whispered to the heartbeat, still fluttering steadily, then kissed it again, as though he could seal the words there, as though he could protect him. </p><p>Richie grunted. Eddie pressed a kiss to his Adam’s apple, then to the dip between his collar bones. </p><p>“Good morning,” Eddie said. Richie grunted again and brought his arms up around Eddie’s shoulders. </p><p>“Sleep,” Richie grumbled, not opening his eyes. </p><p>“Grumpy boy,” Eddie crooned, then pressed another kiss just under his bottom lip. </p><p>“Shhh,” Richie said, so Eddie kissed him again, by the corner of his eye. There were so many soft places Eddie wanted to kiss him. He was determined to have them all. </p><p>“Your breath smells like shit,” Eddie murmured, his voice soft and sweet. Richie snorted and cracked open an eye.</p><p>“Aren’t you supposed to be hungover and like, <em>quiet</em> or something?” Richie croaked, but he was grinning. </p><p>“Shut up,” Eddie said.</p><p>“Make me.” Richie’s eyes danced. Eddie, still hovering over him, leaned down slow until their lips were so close to touching that they buzzed. </p><p>“Not until you brush your teeth,” Eddie murmured, then pulled away laughing. </p><p>“Oh, you asshole,” Richie said. Then, he was springing forward and digging his fingers into Eddie’s very much <em>un-</em>ticklish sides, thank you very much. It was by pure instinct that Eddie broke into a squeal of hysteric giggling. </p><p>“Stop, stop,” Eddie gasped, but Richie didn’t. He just went right on until there was a sharp knock at the door.</p><p>“Hey, lover-boys,” came Stan’s voice from the other side. </p><p>“We’re naked, go away,” Richie answered. Eddie hadn’t caught his breath enough to do anything other than shove a lazy elbow at Richie, one that Richie easily caught, grinning. </p><p>“Good for you,” Stan answered, sounding like he could not physically give less of a fuck. “Bill made pancakes, and you know the rule of pancakes in this house,” Stan said, then disappeared to the sound of his feet clomping back down the stairs. </p><p>Eddie and Richie looked at each other. </p><p>Then, they were shoving and scrambling at one another to get out of the bed and down the stairs and to pancakes before they were demolished by the first-come-first-served rule. Richie was confidently ahead after full-body shoving Eddie backwards onto the bed—God, he’d have to remember <em>that</em> feeling—but it was still Eddie who burst through the kitchen door first when Richie got held up scrambling for his glasses. (Eddie may or may not have snatched them off the bedside table while Richie’s back was turned.)</p><p>“That’s not fair!” Richie groaned when he fell into the seat beside Eddie and plucked them from Eddie’s hand. “I had to grope my way down the stairs.” </p><p>“I saved you a bite,” Eddie said. He held the syrupy bite out on the fork for Richie, then changed course and shoved the whole thing into his own mouth before Richie got a chance. </p><p>“Oh, Eds. I <em>will</em> tongue wrestle you for that. Don’t think I won’t. Come here.” Richie locked a hand around the back of Eddie’s neck and tried to muscle them together. Eddie shoved him back, laughing so hard that the pancake bite practically got spewed up on the table anyway. </p><p>“Please, for all of our sakes,” Stan groaned, leaning against the counter with a mug of coffee curled into his fists. “No PDA before noon.” </p><p>“They’re s-s-sweet,” Bill said. </p><p>“I’m just glad they’re not screaming at each other,” Mike huffed. </p><p>“Literally, fuck all of you,” Richie said, finally relenting his fight for Eddie’s pancake bite. His hand landed on Eddie’s knee instead, thumb stroking idly. Eddie had, quite literally, never felt so happy as he watched Richie accept a coffee mug from Stan with a small smile then go right on bitching, his hand never leaving Eddie. “First, you deny me pancakes, and then, you deny me the sweet sugar of this delicious specimen.” </p><p>“Please never forget that I hate you,” Eddie said. He patted Richie’s hand patronizingly but let it linger, because, again, he did not, in any way, hate Richie Tozier. </p><p>“Also, there’s a whole plate of pancakes sitting right in front of you,” Mike said, waving to, admittedly, the whole plate of pancakes sitting not six inches away from Richie. Eddie went warm imaging what had distracted him enough to have missed them, his thumb still scrubbing around Eddie's kneecap. </p><p>Eddie couldn’t help himself. He leaned forward and kissed Richie’s cheek. Their friends went up in a round of groans and gags, but Richie gave Eddie the softest smile under pink-tinged cheeks, and everything was alright. </p><p>They spent the morning dicking around at Bill’s, finishing the movie they’d started the night before, playing Monopoly with Georgie—Richie was gracious enough to buy an <em>actual</em> fucking hotel—and cawing at a fiercely-blushing Mike to make a move on the girl who’d asked him to dance the night before. Eddie had no doubt that Mike would. He didn’t get the sense that Mike was as chicken-shit as Richie and himself had been, but he held Richie’s hand tighter in the safety of Bill’s basement all the same, grateful that they’d somehow gotten to where they were. </p><p>He and Richie were together. <em>Together</em>. Finally. </p><p>It was a perfect day. Even Sonia, when Eddie had worked up the nerve to call and say he’d be staying out late (he absolutely did <em>not</em> mention that he’d be staying out late to go on a date with Richie), didn’t give him too hard of a time. She tried, sure, but Eddie was untouchable. He just told her he’d be home before midnight and hung up knowing that, really, there was nothing she could do to stop him. </p><p>Sure, she could call the cops on him, but Eddie would fucking <em>run</em>. Try him. </p><p>The sun set on the beautiful, perfect day and drew the world ablaze in a beautiful, perfect haze of gold. The air was crisp and silky, and even in Bill’s front yard, the tacky-sweet smell of the Canal Days Festival’s deep-fried dough drifted to them as Richie led Eddie towards his truck. </p><p>“I’m going on a date with Mr. Spaghettihead himself,” Richie said once he climbed in. He was gripping the steering wheel, staring wide-eyed out of the windshield, grinning, and from what Eddie could tell, it looked like his whole body was vibrating. Eddie grinned while Richie was staring forwards, then smoothed it away as soon as he turned to look at him. </p><p>“Call me Mr. Spaghettihead again, and I’ll call the whole thing off,” Eddie warned. He tried to sound stern, but he couldn’t keep his lips from quirking. The exercise seemed especially pointless when Richie leaned across the bench and planted a wet, sloppy kiss against his cheekbone. </p><p>“I’m gonna kiss you on top of the Ferris wheel, Mr. Spaghettihead,” Richie threatened, still close enough that his breath danced across Eddie’s skin. </p><p>He couldn’t even be mad at the blatant usage of Mr. Spaghettihead. All he could do was smile and nod dumbly. </p><p>Richie leaned back into his own space and started the truck. Within ten minutes, they were being directed to a parking spot amid the festival’s chaos. When they got out, they seemed to be swallowed up by it. The perfect golden of the sunset was shrouded out by the flashing, colorful lights strung up above the cotton candy vendors and balloon pop games. Kids were squealing their way around the hastily-assembled tilt-a-whirl, and throngs of people pulsed in and around booths. Eddie felt a sudden tightness around him. </p><p>“I didn’t know Derry even had this many people,” he mumbled to Richie. Richie stood by his side, surveying everything with a smile, an easy hand stroking and scalding against the small of Eddie’s back. </p><p>Eddie felt at least a dozen people zero in on the thoughtless way Richie touched him. He took a half-step sideways and swallowed. </p><p>“Where do you want to start?” Richie asked, sounding just as jovial and carefree as ever. “It’s my legal obligation to win you a disgusting teddy bear, so might I suggest one of the games?” Richie took a break from scanning the shelves of prizes to grin down at Eddie. </p><p>“Why do I have to be the one to take home a germ-infested teddy bear?” he asked with a scoff. He crossed his arms and took the opportunity to step further out of Richie’s reach, quietly hating himself. </p><p>“It’s my legal obligation, Eds!” Richie repeated, shrugging as though to say, <em>what can you do?</em></p><p>“You have to have coordination and passable eyesight to win literally any game here. Which of those do you possess, Richard?” Eddie asked, raising an eyebrow and grinning when Richie’s shoulders slumped. </p><p>“Neither,” he admitted. He poked his lip out and worked to look particularly forlorn. A swell of people pushed around them, and Eddie choked back the urge to kiss him right then and there. </p><p>He settled for patting his shoulder instead. </p><p>“I’ll win a teddy bear for you, honey,” Eddie said patronizingly. </p><p>He turned on his heel and started down the row of cheesy games with Richie tagging along at his shoulder. He was quietly searching for one particularly deserted, but Richie was chattering so amicably that he didn’t seem to notice Eddie’s methodology for choosing the ring-toss wedged into an off-set corner. </p><p>“I want the purple one,” Richie said as the attendant set up the game. Eddie could feel the heat of him all over, and it turned the air heavy. “And I want to call him Eddie-bear.” </p><p>Eddie shuddered. </p><p>“God, only if you want me to think of my mother every time I see it,” Eddie answered, glancing back at him with an eyebrow raised. The attendant handed him a ring, and Eddie took careful aim. </p><p>“I mean, I already think of your mother at night, so no difference really,” Richie said. He leaned backward against the booth and grinned at Eddie. The first ring sailed horribly to the right. </p><p>“You’re distracting me,” Eddie accused. He shoved him away, but Richie was laughing too much to notice that, actually, Eddie really did feel like the closeness was choking him. The second ring noosed a bottle in the middle. </p><p>“Last one,” the attendant told him as he offered Eddie another ring. </p><p>Richie stood a respectable distance away while Eddie threw the last ring, so he couldn’t even blame him when it skittered around on the tops before ultimately falling off. </p><p>“Pick one,” the attendant said, offering a box of pocket-sized plushies out to Eddie. Eddie picked a purple mongoose and sulked off. </p><p>“Not a bear, but at least it’s purple,” Eddie said, offering it out to Richie. Richie’s eyes got all wide and googly as he stared at it, then he scrubbed it down his cheek. </p><p>“I’ll cherish him forever,” he told Eddie seriously, then grinned. </p><p>“You better,” Eddie said, starting off towards another booth before Richie could reel him in like part of Eddie hoped he would. </p><p>“His name is Carlito,” Richie said. Eddie could hear him pushing through the crowd to keep up with Eddie. When he glanced back, he saw Richie carefully arranging the plushie's noodleline little body into the front pocket of his jeans. Eddie raised an eyebrow. “What? Carlito wants to see the world, but he’s got to be secure.” </p><p>Eddie couldn’t help the corner of his mouth ticking up. He could barely help the urge to reach out and kiss him, now that he knew he just…could. </p><p>“What do you say we go to the funhouse?” Eddie asked, nodding back towards it. It wasn’t perfectly secure, but it would hopefully be enough to afford Eddie the privacy to kiss him, just a little. Just enough that he didn’t feel like he would explode from the want of it. </p><p>“You sure it won’t be too frightening for little Carlito?” Richie asked, peeking around Eddie to take in the gaping clown’s mouth that served as the entrance. </p><p>“If you’re scared to go in, just say so,” Eddie teased. He stepped closer and dropped his voice just low enough for Richie to hear. “I thought there might be a quiet corner we could make out in.” </p><p>Richie pulled away from Eddie, stared for a second, then started in a long stride towards the clown. </p><p>“Cover your eyes, Carlito. It’s about to get nasty,” Richie yelled. Eddie scoffed but followed him. </p><p>For the most part, the funhouse was very run-of-the-mill. Richie seemed genuinely jittery anytime they passed a clown’s likeness, but otherwise, he was cutting jokes and shimmying around in a section of distorted mirrors in the mirror maze. </p><p>“Hey, hey, Eds,” Richie said as he stood in one that made his hips look about six times wider than normal. “Imagine how big my wang would look in this mirror.” </p><p>Eddie’s eyes widened, quickly scanning around them. </p><p>“Little Carlito is going to be scarred for life,” Eddie grumbled when he saw that each and every mirror reflected only them in varying sizes and shapes. Richie turned and grinned at him. </p><p>“Here, let’s give him a hug,” Richie said. He stepped towards Eddie, hips first. “Shield his body with yours.”</p><p>Eddie let himself be led backwards until he came up flush with the surface of one of the mirrors. Richie’s hips pressed into his, and in the mirror over Richie’s shoulder, Eddie caught sight of the dazed look in his own eye when Richie’s lips skimmed his jaw. Carlito pressed a long line into Eddie. Eddie let his eyes flutter closed as Richie kissed down his throat, guiltily imagined what the moment might feel like if it weren’t a fucking purple mongoose poking out of Richie’s pocket. Then, when his eyes dragged back open, he caught sight of a dark head slipping around one of the mirror edges, a dozen of the mirrors’ edges. </p><p>Eddie’s stomach dropped. </p><p>“Rich,” Eddie said, tapping his shoulder, struggling to push him away. “Rich, this place is creepy,” he said. He scanned through the mirrors, but whatever he’d seen had disappeared into the maze. There was just blinding, horribly exposing light seeping into every pane of glass, dozens of Richie’s sucking on the necks of dozens of Eddie’s. </p><p>Richie pulled back and smiled softly. He pressed a light kiss to the end of Eddie’s nose and laced their fingers together. </p><p>“And I thought it was Carlito I was going to have to worry about,” Richie said, then pumped Eddie’s hand and led him towards a gap in the mirrors. Eddie glanced around again, at the dozens of interlocked fingers glaring back at him, but before he could really panic about it, Richie slammed into a gap in the mirrors that wasn’t actually a gap in the mirrors. “Ah fuck!” Richie yelped, tearing his hand out of Eddie’s to rub his forehead. </p><p>Eddie burst out laughing, seeing Richie red-faced and the smear of Richie’s impact on the glass. </p><p>“Are you alright?” Eddie asked in gasped breath. </p><p>“Sure, yuck it up, you dick. Here I was trying to lead you to safety, and I get fucking bludgeoned for it.”</p><p>“You’re being dramatic. Let me see.” Eddie peeled Richie’s hand away from his forehead, and though there was a sharp red mark, he would decidedly live. </p><p>“Kiss it better, Eds?” Richie asked, blinking sweetly. Eddie rolled his eyes, scanned the mirrors quickly again, and pressed a quick kiss to the mark. </p><p>“Now, come on, you big baby,” Eddie said, retreating as quickly as possible. Eventually, they made their way out of the mirror maze and out of the funhouse all together. </p><p>As soon as they broke free into the bluster of the festival-grounds, Richie was squinting across the throngs of people at seemingly nothing. </p><p>“Eds,” he said, elbowing Eddie. “Does that tall drink of water over there look a lot like Ben ‘Handsome’ Hanscom?” </p><p>“Who the fuck is Ben ‘Handsome’ Hanscom?” Eddie asked, reeling around to stare incredulously up at Richie. Richie’s eyes widened.</p><p>“Holy shit, no way! That’s Bev with him!” Richie bounced on the balls of his feet, then practically tore off through the crowd towards them, dragging Eddie along behind him. After a few minutes of shoving through people, Eddie actually did see their nurse from so long ago, her head thrown back as she laughed at an, admittedly handsome, man by her side. </p><p>“Bev! Ben!” Richie called once they were close. Both Beverly and the man Eddie guessed was Ben ‘Handsome’ Hansom turned. </p><p>“Richie!” they both cheered once they saw him. Bev threw her arms out, and Richie dropped Eddie’s hand to fall into them. </p><p>“What are you doing here, Tozier?” Bev asked once she pulled away. Ben swooped in for a hug next, and Eddie was able not to feel too territorial only by the fact that once Ben let him go, Richie was stepping back and circling an arm around Eddie’s waist. Eddie, surrounded by people Richie trusted and by Richie himself, forgot for a moment the rest of the world. </p><p>“First date with my man,” Richie said, grinning first at Ben and Bev and then down to Eddie. </p><p>“Aw, Eddie!” Bev crooned. She stretched her arms out towards him as well, and though Eddie was loathe to step out of the circle of Richie’s arms to hug her, it wasn’t so bad once she was squeezing him like he mattered in this world. </p><p>“This is my boyfriend, Eddie,” Richie told Ben, once Bev had let him go. Eddie’s heart gave a giddy flop at hearing the word on Richie’s lips. “Eddie, this is Ben.” Ben smiled and shook Eddie’s hand while Richie went on. “Ben’s the one who stitched me up after fucking Bowers elbowed me.” </p><p>“That was Henry Bowers?” Ben asked, furrowing his brow. “That kid is still terrorizing people?” Ben turned to Bev. “He was at it back when we were in school, right?” </p><p>Bev sneered and nodded. </p><p>“He was younger than us, but I knew a few people even in our year who would rather shit their pants than cross paths with him.”</p><p>“He’s nothing but a dick,” Richie said, huffing and shoving his hands in his pockets. Eddie, despite feeling cold all over, was glad Richie wasn’t touching him. Just evoking the name of Henry Bowers made Eddie scan the crowd, check for ruthless eyes watching. </p><p>Bev hummed somberly then broke into a grin. </p><p>“I’m so happy for you guys,” she said. “Eddie, you don’t know how long I had to listen to him gripe and moan about you.” </p><p>“Hey!” Richie protested, frowning, even though Eddie’s mouth twitched into a smile. “That gripe-and-moan was supposed to be between us!” </p><p>Bev just rolled her eyes. Just then, another man slid up to the group and circled an arm around Bev’s waist. Eddie felt the shift in the group’s tone almost immediately. Everyone, maybe even Bev, seemed to tighten. </p><p>“Hey, babe,” the newcomer said, pressing a kiss into her cheek like he was marking his territory. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your little friends?” he asked. His eyes scraped heavy over Richie and Eddie. Eddie took half a step back. </p><p>“Tom, this is Richie and Eddie. They were patients of mine,” Bev said, waving meekly to them. Tom didn’t look impressed. </p><p>“How about we get some funnel cake,” Tom suggested in a way that really didn’t sound like a request. His hand clenched around Bev’s upper arm certainly didn’t look like a request. Eddie felt Richie bristle beside him as Tom led Bev away. </p><p>“Make it two,” Richie called after him, obstinate, challenging. Bev cut him a look over her shoulder, and when they were out of earshot, Richie deflated. “The fuck, man?” he asked to Ben. Ben looked like he’d already been beaten down, his eyes on the ground. “You guys didn’t come here together?” </p><p>Ben glanced up and shrugged.</p><p>“We did…just also with Tom.” Ben looked particularly sheepish, helped none at all by Richie groaning. </p><p>“Ben! This is not what I meant when I said ask her out!” </p><p>“It wasn’t supposed to be like this," Ben protested. "Me and Bev were just going to come and have a nice time, but then Tom found out the friend she was going with wasn’t a girl, and he got all pissy.”</p><p>“That’s because Tom is a giant bag of dicks!” Richie said, waving towards where Tom and Bev were in line for funnel cake. </p><p>“Richie,” Eddie murmured, glancing at them nervously. </p><p>“No, he is!” Richie insisted. “He treats her like shit, and she deserves better. She deserves someone like you who’s gonna respect her.” </p><p>Ben frowned harder, if that was even possible. Eddie shifted uncomfortably. </p><p>“I know. I was hoping to talk to her tonight, let her know she’s got support and all, but he’s barely left her side since we got here.” </p><p>“Ben, you are literally seventy-three inches of straight-up muscle mass. You could curb-stomp that asshole with your big toe.” </p><p>Ben scoffed and shook his head. </p><p>“I don’t want to make it worse for her, man. If she’s going to stay with him, I don’t want to make it worse. I want her safe.” Ben stared solemnly at Richie, and Richie stared solemnly back. Eddie wanted to hold Richie against him, to show him that the world wasn’t all bad, but the reality of where they were, <em>who</em> they were and how the world saw them, it was pressing in too tight around them. He had to stand far enough away to keep him safe. </p><p>“That’s hard,” Eddie murmured. It wasn’t eloquent, but it was true. Ben’s words sunk down into his bones and echoed for miles. Ben sighed.</p><p>“Yeah…”</p><p>Over Ben’s shoulder, Eddie saw Bev and Tom coming back into view with two plates of funnel cake. Richie went rigid again, but he pasted a smile onto his face, sounded jovial when Bev passed him a plate. Eddie supposed that was his way of keeping her safe, too. </p><p>They stood around and chatted for a while, while Richie shoved hot strands of funnel cake down his throat, but the conversation was stilted with Tom’s presence hanging heavy over them. Richie didn’t even flirt when he offered Eddie a bite, and even though it was kind of disappointing, Eddie was also deeply grateful to him for it. </p><p>Eventually, they left the trio there, with Richie saying he’d see them around and both Bev and Ben answering that they’d better fucking not unless it was outside of the hospital. Richie just grinned at them, all teeth, and left with Eddie by his side. </p><p>Richie seemed to shake off the menacing air of Tom almost as soon as they’d slipped away from the trio, but it clung to Eddie. The paranoia he’d already felt traipsing around the festival-ground by Richie’s side nearly tripled. Every glance in their direction felt like a million judging, crushing pounds. Everyone seemed to be watching them, and Eddie had a fresh reminder through Tom that there was a fucking scumbag lurking around every corner. He was afraid to so much as breathe too close to Richie. </p><p>Richie hardly seemed to notice, as they wandered from attraction to attraction, that Eddie’s throat felt so tight he could barely breathe. (Where was his inhaler? Why didn’t he bring it? Why was it so hard to think?) The horror seemed to settle full-force when Richie led him to the Ferris wheel. </p><p>Beyond the precarious groaning coming from the wheel jerking, the ghost of Richie’s earlier words glazed down over him. <em>I’m gonna kiss you on top of the Ferris wheel, Mr. Spaghettihead,</em> Richie had promised. Eddie couldn’t suck in a breath big enough to protest Richie plopping him into one of the carts, and by the time a sliver of air worked its way into his lungs, they were creaking up into the air to let the next cart fill, trapped. </p><p>Richie, even as they were hoisted further and further in the air as cart after cart filled, seemed perfectly at ease. He was grinning over at Eddie, an easy arm slung across the back of the bench seat. He wasn’t touching Eddie, but every light on the grounds seemed to be shining directly on them. Eddie could see every one of the rummaging festival-goers, and they could see him right back. </p><p>Richie’s thumb swiped across the back of Eddie’s neck, and Eddie jumped so hard the cart rocked. </p><p>“Whoa,” Richie said, his arms flailing a bit to steady it. “Not that I don’t appreciate a little rockin’-the-boat, but we’re kind of high up for that.” He let out a nervous laugh, and Eddie tried to smile. </p><p>“Sorry.” </p><p>“You okay?” Richie asked. He settled his arm across Eddie’s shoulders, and it took everything in him not to squirm away. The Ferris wheel churned around slowly. They rose higher and higher, and all Eddie could think about was how many people would be watching them when it came back down. How many people would see the stroke of Richie’s thumb on the soft of Eddie’s neck. How easily the rumor of queer little Eddie sidled up to some boy would jump from person and land at his mother’s feet. How little it would take for her to knock him down completely. </p><p>They crested the path of the ride, and Eddie’s heart slammed. </p><p>“Yeah, just…” Eddie squirmed a little, and Richie’s arm fell away and with it, his easy smile.</p><p>“We’re doing this again?” Richie asked after a moment. His voice was flat, if a little disbelieving. He drew his arm back into the cart as they sunk towards the crowd of spectators, of exposers. </p><p>“What?” Eddie asked. He tried to focus only on Richie’s face, not on the tens, hundreds, thousands of people below. </p><p>“<em>This</em>, Eddie,” Richie said emphatically. He motioned between them, frowning. “This thing where I try to touch you, and you pull away.” </p><p>Eddie felt his face burn and shifted against the unyielding metal of the seat. </p><p>“There’s people,” he murmured as they rounded the bottom. Some kid with a bear bigger than she was pointed and waved.</p><p>“There’s always people,” Richie said, leaning forward to catch Eddie’s eye. “I wish to God that it was different, Eds. I really, really fucking do. But it’s not. You’re just going to have to accept that.” </p><p>Eddie swallowed, hot, frustrated tears welling up as everything pressed closer, and choked out the words. </p><p>“Jesus Christ, Richie, can’t you see that I’m <em>trying</em>, here?” </p><p>Richie gritted his teeth, clenched his jaw. Eddie watched the muscle jump.</p><p>“It’s hard for me, too, okay?” Richie said. “I see the way people look at me. I might be blind, but I’m not fucking stupid. I just care more about you than I do about any of those dumb fucks.” </p><p>“It’s not that simple,” Eddie answered, frowning. They were headed back towards the top, eyes following them all the way. Eddie's breath pushed through him tight and fast. </p><p>“Fucking hell, Eddie. I just want to kiss my stupid boyfriend at the top of the stupid Ferris wheel like we’re stupid, normal teens!”</p><p>“Well, we’re not, okay?!" Eddie burst, his chest heaving. "Derry’s let us know from the jump that nothing about us is <em>normal</em>.”</p><p>“Life’s too goddamn short for you to be so afraid all the time.” </p><p>“That’s not fair, and you know it.” </p><p>“How is that not fair?!” </p><p>“Because you’re dying! Stop using your condition just to get what you want! Stop pushing me so hard!” </p><p>It took far too long for Eddie’s panic-addled brain to catch up to his mouth. Richie was stock-still next to him, staring with his jaw slack and a definite wetness in his eyes. Dread and horror pierced through Eddie, crashing into the panic until he was buzzing with <em>wrong</em>. </p><p>“Richie,” he choked out, reaching, but Richie shifted as far away as the small cart would allow.</p><p>“Fuck you, Eddie,” he said quietly. Eddie had never heard him sound so serious. It sparked the shame in him into a blaze. “Seriously, if that’s the kind of person you think I am…just…fuck you.” </p><p>Richie turned to glare ahead, his lip still trembling, and Eddie couldn’t think of an apology big enough. There wasn’t one. </p><p>They neared the top of the wheel, towering over Derry at 100 feet. The ride creaked to a stop. </p><p>“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Richie hissed, glancing down. Eddie saw him turn three shades of green, and he swayed backwards into the cart. Eddie reached out again, feeling sick all over and desperate to fix it. </p><p>He knew Richie was afraid of heights. He might have just spat out the most brutally awful truth he could rip from himself, but he could still comfort Richie. </p><p>He jerked away from Eddie’s hand like he’d burned him. </p><p>“Don’t touch me right now,” Richie said. Eddie had never seen the look of razor-sharp hurt in Richie’s eyes, especially not directed at him. </p><p>It stunned his mouth closed. All he could do was sit back in the cart, his breath ragged and uneven, and stare down at all of the people staring up at them. He hated every single one of them, and he hated himself.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Anyone else headcanon that Eddie gets brutally honest when he gets overwhelmed? No? Just me? Fair...</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Richie gets the flu, graciously shares it with Eddie, and makes Stan—nearly—piss his pants.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tws: Richie's astonishingly-low self-esteem, discussion of Richie's heart and dwindling time, fucked-up attitudes about death, light mention of Sonia's abuse, light mention of homophobic violence</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div>
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    <em>September ‘93</em>
 
</p>
</div><p>Maybe Richie was being petulant by driving Eddie straight home as soon as that God-forsaken Ferris wheel let them back off. And yeah, maybe Eddie saying he was using his heart like a battering ram stung like salt in a burn wound, and yeah, maybe it had sort of felt like jumping at the quarry, but only in reverse, like everything nasty and horrible and vicious he’d ever felt about himself was swelling up and clamming up and corking up inside of him to settle until the end of days.</p><p>And yeah, maybe, overall, what Eddie’d said had been devastating, but Richie really didn’t mean to be so dramatic as to not see him or talk to him for four days after. </p><p>He’d wanted the night to cool down and to try and come to terms with the idea that what Eddie had said sucked so much because it was maybe…just a little bit true. </p><p>And then he was going to talk to him about it! He was going to sit down and have a grown-up discussion about his feelings like a grown-up, because he was in a grown-up relationship with Eddie, someone that he loved. </p><p>Plus, Eddie had already called him out on his crippling tendency to avoid confrontation, and Richie would be damned before he was called out on <em>that</em> too in this argument. </p><p>But then, Richie had started to feel less than stellar. Not in the I’ve-got-a-heart-condition-and-the-boy-I-love-made-me-sad type of way that meant another hospital fiasco and more debt to crush onto his parents, but instead, in the my-sister-Nicole-is-a-jackass-sophomore-whose-jackass-sophomore-friends-have-been-trading-the-flu-back-and-forth-for-three-weeks-and-it’s-finally-found-the-Tozier-household type of way. </p><p>Poor Went was the only one who ended the weekend with a temperature of less than 103, which meant he was balancing soup trays up and down the stairs for days. It also meant that he was stuck fielding all phone calls—which meant avoiding all phone calls—while everyone else alternated between sleeping like fucking logs and feeling like their bones were trying to heave clean out of them.</p><p>By Wednesday, four days after Eddie had a little bit stomped on his heart, Richie was finally feeling well enough to get out of bed and answer the phone when it rang at eleven in the morning. </p><p>“Hello?” he croaked and grimaced at the sound of his own voice after so long of disuse. After the most recent surgery, he’d been croaky for days—an annoying side-effect of the breathing tube they’d shoved down his throat, but ultimately one he’d been willing to live with since it made sure he could, like, keep breathing—and hearing the croak of it then did not exactly give him the warm and fuzzies. </p><p>“Rich??” the caller asked, and it only took a second in his still-fevered mind to know that it was Mr. Spaghettihead himself. </p><p>“Spagheds, is that you?” Richie asked. He didn’t even try to sound like he was anything other than thrilled to hear from him. He’d been—in a shocking surprise to exactly no one—thinking about Eddie pretty much nonstop, missing him, cuddling with Carlito the purple mongoose like it was Eddie himself. But he’d also been delirious and bed-ridden and aching like he’d gotten hit by a truck, so there hadn't been much to be done. </p><p>“Yeah, it’s me,” Eddie said. </p><p>“Dude, it’s 11 am on a Wednesday. Why aren’t you in class?” </p><p>Eddie went quiet on the other end of the phone. </p><p>“I, uh, I sort of hitched to Bangor,” Eddie mumbled finally. </p><p>Richie couldn’t help the laugh that tore out of him. </p><p>“You <em>what</em>?!” </p><p>“You weren’t in school! You didn’t answer my calls! I thought I’d hospitalized you or something by being a dickhead! Hey, stop laughing, jackass!” </p><p>Richie sucked in a ragged breath to settle himself. </p><p>“Eds, babe, I’ve had the flu,” Richie said.</p><p>“The flu?” Eddie repeated quietly. He sounded stunned.</p><p>“Wait, so, you hitched all the way to the hospital in Bangor just to check up on me?” </p><p>Eddie went quiet again. </p><p>“…Yeah,” he said after a beat, and Richie couldn’t help but laugh. Richie loved him. He loved him with everything in him. </p><p>“You didn’t think to check my house first, you dork?” Richie managed. </p><p>“Shut up! I was worried!” </p><p>“Oh, Eds,” Richie sighed, smiling so wide his cheeks hurt. He even heard Eddie huff a laugh. </p><p>“Can we talk, Rich?” Eddie murmured after a moment.</p><p>Richie’s stomach flipped. He thought suddenly of salt grinding into a burn, but even so, he knew that Eddie was the only one who could fix it. He swallowed.</p><p>“You know we can,” Richie said. </p><p>“Okay…I’ll be home in an hour.” </p><p>“Home?” Richie asked. Maybe it was the dregs of fever, or maybe just dumb fucking wishful thinking, but something about the way Eddie said it made Richie think he wasn’t talking about the house with all of his things in it. Richie smiled a little. </p><p>“I said what I said,” Eddie said. It sounded like he was smiling, too. </p><p>“I’ll see you,” Richie murmured after a moment of just basking in the glory of Eddie Kaspbrak being his dumb beautiful boyfriend whom he loved. “You better snatch a mask from Bev. This house is a war-zone,” Richie warned. He heard Eddie snort before the line dropped dead between them. </p><p>By the time he dragged himself back up the stairs to his room, Richie was exhausted again, and at the same time, jittering down to his toes about the idea that Eddie would be there soon. </p><p>The hour couldn’t pass fast enough, but when it did, and when Richie was leading Eddie—maskless, the fool—up the stairs to his room, everything in the world seemed to make sense again. Richie settled Eddie in his desk chair—the least contaminated spot he could imagine—and sat on the end of his bed, watching as Eddie wrung his fingers round and round. </p><p>They were silent, and Richie hated silence. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” Richie murmured after a bit. He reached out and took hold of Eddie’s hands, squeezing even as Eddie looked up at him in shock. </p><p>“<em>You’re</em> sorry? I was the one who was an asshole. Why are you sorry?” Eddie asked, furrowing his brow. Richie shrugged. </p><p>“I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard…I know it’s scary.” Richie squeezed Eddie’s fingers again, and Eddie turned his palm up so he could squeeze back. </p><p>“It shouldn’t matter,” Eddie murmured. His beautiful, perfect lips looked chewed raw. Richie wanted to kiss him. </p><p>“But I know it does,” Richie said instead. “And I can wait, if that’s what you want. We can keep the world out for a while, hang out wherever you’re comfortable.” </p><p>Eddie’s beautiful, perfect lip trembled.</p><p>“You don’t deserve that. You deserve someone who’ll show you off and can hold your hand in public.”</p><p>Richie’s stomach clenched. He wanted that. He wanted Eddie to be proud to be with him, the way he was so fucking proud to be with Eddie. He was selfish enough to want it, no matter the cost, but he wasn’t selfish enough to demand it, no matter the cost. Now that he knew Eddie felt the same way about him, there would never be an ultimatum. Not from Richie. If it was being with Eddie in secret or not being with him at all, he knew what he’d choose.  </p><p>“I just want to be with you,” Richie said. He reached up and brushed a hand down Eddie’s cheek, watching the flutter of his eyelashes as he leaned into it. </p><p>“I’ll do better,” he said after a moment. “I want to be who you deserve.” </p><p>Fuck, Richie would never, ever deserve Eddie, but he swallowed down the thought and smoothed his thumb towards Eddie’s lips. As the pad of his thumb met the corner, Eddie dropped a ragged breath. </p><p>“I feel like shit for what I said, Rich…” </p><p>“Eddie,” Richie started, shaking his head, but Eddie shook his faster. Richie’s hand fell away. </p><p>“No, I hurt you just because I was scared, and that's not okay. It was shitty and fucked up, and I should never have used your heart against you like that. I’m so sorry.” </p><p>Eddie was staring at him so earnestly, so openly, that Richie suddenly felt like his tongue weighed a million pounds. He tried to swallow down the thick sticky of it, but his voice still broke when he answered.</p><p>“You were kind of right though,” he admitted. Eddie blinked, and Richie tried again to make his tongue work the way it was supposed to. “I mean, I wasn’t intentionally doing it, but…fuck.” Richie sighed and shook his head, tried again, come on, come on. </p><p>Eddie pumped his hand, and Richie closed his eyes just to feel him for a second, just to commit to memory the way they fit together, sitting apart, reaching for one another. Then, he opened his eyes and found Eddie already looking at him, waiting patiently, not angry, not looking like he felt tricked into caring about a dying kid. </p><p>Richie swallowed.</p><p>“I just want you happy, Spagheds…but I’m selfish, too. I’m living on borrowed time, here, you know?” Richie clenched his teeth and shook his head. “Fuck, that came out wrong. I’m not trying to guilt you into it. You don’t owe me anything. It’s just…that was the rush. I want to spend time with you while I’ve got it.” Richie looked down at their hands, white knuckled, holding tight. “I don’t want to toot my own horn by saying it’s gonna hurt you when I go, but—but death always hurts, you know?” Richie swallowed and drew in a breath to say what he needed to. What he didn’t want to. “I would understand if you didn’t want to be with me anymore. I really would.” </p><p>“Hey,” Eddie said, cutting him off. When Richie tore his eyes off their hands, Eddie’s face was set determinedly. His gaze was misty, but he looked like it would take an army to drag him away. “You’re not getting rid of me,” he said. </p><p>Richie wanted to be relieved. He really, really did. But mostly, he was just sad for the pain he would cause if Eddie stayed.</p><p>“I think you should think about it,” Richie said seriously, but he didn’t let go of Eddie’s hand. </p><p>“There’s nothing to think about.” Eddie shrugged, and Richie barely bit back a groan. </p><p>“Eddie, please. Just think about it. Take a minute to consider what it’ll be like for you when I kick it, okay?” </p><p>God, that lump was back in his throat. Everything was swelling around him. He was going to hurt everyone he loved, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it. They’d all be better off by never having met him. </p><p>Eddie squeezed his hand, tight.</p><p>“I’m already invested,” he said. He leveled Richie with a serious look, and Richie pulled away.</p><p>“God, don’t say that. At least let me <em>think</em> you’ll make it out of this without getting hurt. I’m tired of everyone I care about becoming a casualty.”</p><p>“You want me to say it won’t hurt at all if you die on me?” Eddie was leaning forward on his elbows, an eyebrow raised smack to the middle of his forehead and small smile at the corner of his lips. Richie could tell he was being made fun of, so he huffed and crossed his arms like the petulant child he was not-so-deep down.</p><p>“Yeah, kind of,” Richie grumbled. “It would make me feel less guilty, that’s for damn sure.” </p><p>“Guilty? Why does me wanting to be with you make you feel guilty?” </p><p>“Cause!” Richie tossed his hands up in the air. “Cause I’m practically dragging you into a relationship that I know is only going to hurt you.”</p><p>“You’re not dragging me into anything, Richie. This is my choice. I chose to be here beside you. I’m choosing it right now.” Richie just glared at Eddie, and Eddie rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he relented after a moment. “It won’t hurt me at all when you die.” His voice shook, but he had a hard smile on his lips. “Does that make you feel better?” </p><p>Richie loved him, and sitting right there in his bedroom at noon-thirty on a Wednesday in September, Richie let himself believe that it was okay to love him as much as he did. He let himself believe, just a little, that it wasn’t selfish, that he could have Eddie, that it wouldn’t hurt him when he died. </p><p>“Can I please kiss you, Eddie?” Richie murmured. </p><p>Eddie’s eyes danced, and he raised a shoulder. </p><p>“I’ve had my flu shot,” he answered, then leaned forward. </p><p>Richie felt full-up on the need to hold Eddie as close as he possibly could. He wanted every second he could get, and the need to have them all was thrumming so loud in him that he thought he might burst from it. All he could do to keep from shattering open was clench his eyes closed, lock a hand into the back of Eddie’s hair, and in spite of how absolutely desperate he felt, kiss him soft and slow. When Eddie finally let his lips part and licked gentle into Richie’s mouth, it was all he could do not to cry on the spot. </p><p>It didn’t take long for them to fall backwards onto the bed, trading eager, wistful kisses back and forth. Richie was happy to do that forever, just hold him, just kiss him, but after a while, Eddie hummed and settled his head against Richie’s chest, right over the scar. </p><p>His fingers traced around the edges of it, and Richie felt his skin trembling under the touch. </p><p>“How much time?” Eddie murmured. He kept his head down, and Richie was grateful for it. He didn’t want Eddie to see the tears that suddenly sprung to his eyes. Didn’t even want him to hear the dry click of his throat when he swallowed, but, like so much else in his life, there was very little he could do about it. </p><p>“Some…” Richie answered, “Not enough.” He wished very much his voice hadn’t shaken. </p><p>Eddie nodded softly against him and pushed down a hard swallow of his own. His arms were iron around Richie, and Richie stared up at the ceiling and tried to focus on tracing the lines of Eddie’s back to keep from falling apart over how unfair it all was. </p><p>He finally had something he wanted to live for, and he knew it would never be enough. </p><p>“The last surgery helped, but my heart’s sort of…eating itself? I dunno, there’s an actual medical term but, essentially, that’s what’s happening.” Richie sighed, trying to steady himself. </p><p>After a moment, he redirected and started again. It seemed, somehow, easier to focus on the past than the eminent future railing towards them, so that’s what he did. </p><p>“The doctors originally told my parents I wouldn’t make it past five. I mean, obviously, I did, but ya know…when I was old enough to really understand that I was supposed to be dead but wasn’t, I knew I should feel happy or grateful or whatever that I’d made it as long as I had, but I didn’t. Honestly, I was just terrified all the goddamn time. I didn’t want to sleep. People die unexpectedly in their sleep, you know?” Eddie pushed closer, held him tighter. Richie swallowed, kept going. “I’d sit in my room for hours, playing guitar, drawing, refusing to even touch the bed, right? For days at a time, and then I’d pass out at dinner or doing my homework and wake up in a cold sweat, pissed off that I’d let myself sleep…” </p><p>“Rich…” Eddie’s voice was barely there. Richie shook his head, smoothed down Eddie’s back.</p><p>“I know. It’s okay. It’s not like that anymore… One day, I woke up in the bathtub. I guess I had fallen asleep taking a shower, the water was absolutely freezing, and I just realized that I was fucking <em>miserable</em> like that. I mean, I had been given more years than anyone thought I was going to have, and I wasn’t even living them, just being petrified all the time. So, I told myself I’d live my life, <em>really</em> live it, even if it killed me. I’d jump at the quarry. I’d kiss that boy who made me crazy.” </p><p>Eddie titled his face up, and Richie kissed him. There was so much he wanted to say to Eddie. Never enough time. </p><p>“I know I’m still on borrowed time,” Richie murmured after Eddie shifted away enough to see him. “But man, I’m fucking grateful for it now. For every single second.” </p><p>Eddie was staring up at him with big, dark, <em>sad</em> eyes, and it turned and turned in Richie’s gut, and all he could do was kiss him again. He was grateful for every single fucking second. </p><p>On Friday, Richie’d decided the flu had run its course—whether or not that was true, he was bored as fuck sitting at home. Even his usual morning grumpiness was taken over by the knowledge that he’d be able to stare at Eddie’s sweet little face all through Comparative Lit. He cheerfully made a pot of coffee, dumped in enough sugar to stun an elephant, and dutifully drained half of it. Then, he divided the rest into two thermoses, kissed his mom on her—still admittedly clammy—cheek, and whistled his way straight into Eddie’s driveway. </p><p>He sat drumming some of the caffeine out against the steering wheel while he waited for Eddie. Normally, Eddie was out the door like a shot, but Richie sat there for ten minutes, checked to make sure that for some mystical reason he hadn’t actually gotten there forty minutes early or something, then frowned at the house with the big tree on Munroe. The window of Eddie’s room was dark. Richie kept frowning as he twisted the key out of the ignition. </p><p>He’d just raised his hand to knock when none other than Sonia Kaspbrak opened the door with dark eyes and a steely expression. </p><p>“Oh, hi, Mrs. K.,” Richie said, rocking back on his heels a little. He glanced around her into the house, but Eddie was nowhere to be seen. “Uh, is Eddie here?” </p><p>“Edward isn’t feeling well,” Sonia said tersely. She looked about half a second away from closing the door smack in his face. </p><p>“Not feeling well or <em>not feeling well</em>?” Richie asked, the words off his lips before he could remind himself not to be fucking stupid and make his boyfriend’s mother hate him more than she probably already did. Her eyes narrowed. </p><p>“I don’t know what you want from my son, or how you found out where he lives, but I think it’s best if you leave.” </p><p>Richie just stared at her. He heard her, but all that was stumbling around in his brain was a frenzied attempt to remember what Eddie’d told her about their relationship. Evidently, he’d told her absolutely nothing. Not even that they went to the same school. Richie snapped his mouth shut and walked back to his truck. </p><p>Then, he drove home. It was Friday, fuck it. </p><p>He spent the morning catching up on school work while waiting for an appropriate time to call Eddie, biting back hospital homeschooling flashbacks the whole time. He knew he should maybe feel irritated about Eddie not telling Mrs. K that they were at least friends, but he really didn’t have it in him, especially not after they’d <em>just</em> gotten back to a place that felt really good. He knew it was hard for Eddie, and he’d only had the pleasure of making Mrs. K’s acquaintance a handful of times, but he knew just from how Eddie’s whole body tensed when he spoke of her, that she was most likely even more ulcer-inducingly delightful towards Eddie than she’d been that morning towards Richie. </p><p>By the time he’d made it through Thursday’s assignments, he was bored again and hungry, so he snatched a banana and the phone off the kitchen counter before wandering up to his room. </p><p>Eddie answered on the second ring—Richie’d never been more glad that Eddie had his own extension—sounding sleepy and snuffy. </p><p>“Aww, wittle Eds,” Richie crooned. His heart, the bastard, fluttered. </p><p>“Shut it,” Eddie grouched. </p><p>“When your mom said you were sick, I half-expected it to be another one of her <em>things</em>,” Richie said as he peeled the banana. </p><p>“You asshole,” Eddie said, but his normal fire seemed dulled by fever and snot. “First you give me the flu, then you get me in trouble with my mom.” He didn’t sound all that angry. Mostly, he sounded like he felt like shit. Which Richie remembered so freshly that it panged through him. </p><p>“Sorry, baby,” Richie murmured. Eddie hummed a bit. He sounded like he was barely awake, and Richie smiled. “I’m eating a banana very sexily, if that makes you feel any better?” (He was not, truth be told. Richie had a very particular method of banana-eating, that being, shove literally as much into his mouth as physically possible so assholes wouldn’t beat the shit out of him for eating phallic food. He hoped it horrified them when they watched him scarf it down like a chimp.) </p><p>Eddie snorted, and there was so much phlegm in the sound that Richie didn’t know how Eddie himself wasn’t revolted.</p><p>“Bet it’s already rotten just from being near your trashmouth,” Eddie said. Richie grinned wider. Trust Eddie to take a dig at him even when he felt like shit. “Wish you were here,” he mumbled after a minute, and on its heels a massive yawn ripped through him. </p><p>“That can be arranged, Spagheds,” Richie said around his mouthful of banana. He swallowed, tossed the peel, and sat back on his bed. </p><p>“Yeah right,” Eddie scoffed. “Mom chewed my ass for an hour about not telling her you lived in Derry.” </p><p>Richie gasped, scandalized.</p><p>“I’m the only one allowed to chew your ass!” </p><p>Eddie snorted again, but at least Richie knew he was smiling. </p><p>“There was an obvious <em>your mom’s so cute when she’s jealous</em> joke in there, Rich. You’re losing your touch.” </p><p>“Holy shit, you’re right. I’m so disappointed in myself.” Richie smiled down at his feet. “I dunno though. Kind of worth it for the mental image of biting that cute little tushy of yours.” God, and what a cute little tushy it was. Richie’s ultimate goal in life was to die by the hand of that perfect ass. </p><p>Richie had half a second to feel self-conscious about the fact that he’d just admitted to wanting to bite his closeted-boyfriend-of-less-than-a-week’s ass, before Eddie was groaning. </p><p>“Please don’t talk about biting. Even my teeth hurt,” he said, but more than that, Richie heard was he wasn’t being sent into a gay-panic from Richie wanting to touch him. Richie loved him. </p><p>“Told you to wear a mask,” Richie said. </p><p>“Yeah, well. I learned my lesson. I won’t be going near you without a biohazard suit from now on.” Richie smiled into the phone, and even though Eddie still sounded on the verge of sleep, Richie could tell he was smiling, too. </p><p>“I’m sorry you feel bad, honey,” Richie murmured.</p><p>“Honey?”</p><p>“You don’t like it?” </p><p>Eddie hummed again. </p><p>“No, I like it. ‘S sweet, like you,” Eddie said. </p><p>Richie bit back a wounded sound. He hated that Eddie felt bad, but he was too cute. Fever made him soft. Richie wished he’d been recording him but settled for committing every tired breath to memory. </p><p>“I really do wish you were here,” Eddie said after a bit. Richie could cry. He loved him so much. </p><p>“I really can come over. That big, ol’ tree looks just ripe for shimmying up. Say the word, and I’m there.” </p><p>“Yeah,” Eddie said softly.</p><p>“Yeah, you want me to come over?” </p><p>“Yeah,” Eddie said again. </p><p>Richie knew that Eddie was in a vulnerable state, knew that he should be the responsible one to remind Eddie what might happen if Sonia caught on to Richie shimmying his giant ass up the beanstalk, but also…he wanted to see Eddie. And he’d already established to himself that he was more than a little selfish. </p><p>Plus, he was living his life with reckless abandon, making the absolute most of it. He practically owed it to himself to climb that probably-rotted tree up to his sick boyfriend’s window. </p><p>“Okay, baby. I’ll be there in ten.” </p><p>“M’kay,” Eddie mumbled. Then, Richie was pretty sure he heard a soft snore rise between them. Richie smiled, shook his head, and hung up. </p><p>He dropped the house phone back in the kitchen on his way out and left for Eddie’s house for the second time in four hours. </p><p>This time, he parked down the block—he didn’t put it past Sonia Kaspbrak to already have his plates memorized—and snuck behind the hedges of the adjacent yard until he could see the big tree that led up to Eddie’s window. His heart was racing, but he jogged over to it anyway, thinking all the while that whatever Sonia’s flaws, at least she was a woman who loved thick, concealing curtains that worked just as well for hiding the outside world—specifically, boys trying to touch her son’s cute little tushy—as well as they worked for blocking out the sun. </p><p>It only took him a couple of failed jumps to land a grip on the lowest-hanging limb, and after that, only a few tries to heave himself upright onto it so he could catch his breath. </p><p>“Jesus, this is dumb,” Richie huffed as he clung to the limb like a scared cat and rubbed his chest. Then, he looked around in an attempt to find the limb that would lead him to Eddie. There, just a few precarious feet higher, stretched The Limb. It was bowed and sturdy, and more importantly, practically bumped shoulders with the pane of Eddie’s bedroom window. </p><p>He started towards it carefully and held onto the main trunk of the tree for as long as he could before he awkwardly hauled himself up on The Limb, once again in his scared-cat pose. After a few steadying breaths and numerous reminders to <em>not look down, don’t look down, do not look down</em>, he inched his way out along it until he could reach Eddie’s window. </p><p>When he saw him lying there, hand still curled around the phone, drool puddling down onto the receiver, every fear was forgotten. He could have been a million miles in the air, but there was Eddie, and Richie wasn’t afraid. </p><p>He took just a moment to find his breath again—swearing to himself it was the exertion of the climb and not the drooling angel that took his breath away, despite knowing damn well what the truth was—before he reached out and rapped quickly on Eddie’s window. </p><p>Eddie didn’t stir. </p><p>“Shit,” Richie hissed, glancing around. The neighborhood was quiet, but he didn’t really want to be literally treed by the neighbors for Sonia to hunt down. He tried again, also aware that it was entirely possible Sonia would hear him first anyway, and then he’d be fucked. </p><p><em>They’d</em> be fucked. </p><p>His heart turned from eager buzzing to anxious pounding. Maybe he should have been the responsible one, even for an afternoon, bum-heart and all. </p><p>But before he could talk himself out of it, he knocked again, hard, holding his breath, and miracle of miracles, Eddie jerked awake.</p><p>Richie waved to him frantically as he looked around, trying to figure out where the noise had come from, and when his eyes—God, those eyes—landed on Richie, hanging out on the tree outside of his window, they nearly doubled in size. </p><p>Eddie was over to the window in an instant, flinging it open and hissing at him.</p><p>“What the fuck are you doing here?!”</p><p>“You asked me to come,” Richie said. He knew he should probably feel deflated by the less-than-warm welcome he was receiving, but he was still pretty high off the ground, and Eddie had a really distracting pillow crease bisecting his cheek, and those were about the only two things he could think about. </p><p>“Jesus, Rich,” Eddie whispered. Then, he was stretching out a hand and helping to pull Richie through the window. As he left the tree branch, Richie swore he blacked out for just a second, but then he was in Eddie’s room, in Eddie’s arms, and he could worry about getting his ass back out at a later time. </p><p>“Hi,” Richie murmured. Eddie’s hand was clenched tight around his bicep from hauling him inside, but with what Richie was sure was an absolutely gooey smile in his direction, the hand fell, and Eddie was circling his arms low around Richie’s waist and pulling him in. Eddie burrowed in under Richie’s chin, and Richie hugged him just as tight. </p><p>“You’re dumb for this,” Eddie mumbled, but he wasn’t letting go, so it seemed like a win-win. </p><p>“I brought you soup,” Richie said into Eddie’s hair. Then he pulled away. “Fuck! I forgot the soup in the truck!” </p><p>He’d even rinsed out the thermos he’d put Eddie’s coffee in earlier that morning so he could refill it with the leftovers of his dad’s famous sick-soup. And alas, he could see it in his mind’s eye, sitting forlorn and forgotten in the lonely cupholder of Richie’s crappy truck. </p><p>“Shh,” Eddie giggled, bringing a hand up and covering Richie’s mouth. His palm was clammy against Richie’s lips, but Richie didn’t mind. “Mom’s napping. Don’t wake her.” </p><p>“Sorry I gave you the flu,” Richie said, muffled by Eddie’s hand. Eddie rolled his eyes and pulled his hand back. </p><p>“Yeah, well, you’re gonna get it back showing up here,” Eddie said. But he was still looking up at Richie, arms around his waist, smiling like he was looking to get the hell kissed out of him. </p><p>Richie settled for a soft, closed-mouth peck. </p><p>“No take-backs,” Richie said when they pulled apart. He grinned down at Eddie, but Eddie had a confused little frown on his face. Richie leaned down to kiss the crease between his eyebrows, the skin scalding under his lips. </p><p>“You climbed the tree to get in here?” Eddie said, voice lilting like he wasn’t sure, like he hadn’t just pulled Richie off the branch. </p><p>Richie cocked an eyebrow. </p><p>“Your fever must be higher than I thought if you already forgot.” </p><p>Eddie shook his head.</p><p>“No, I just…that was sweet of you,” he said, but he was still frowning. In fact, he was frowning so deep it was nearly a grimace. </p><p>“You alright?” Richie asked. He didn’t like the look Eddie was giving him. Made him itchy. </p><p>Eddie seemed to feel Richie’s creeping anxiety, because he shook his head, and when he looked back up, the intense frown was gone, replaced by his normal grumpy one. Richie liked the grumpy-Eddie look much better.</p><p>“I feel like shit,” Eddie said. </p><p>“Well, I left the soup, but I’ve been told I’m the world’s best cuddler.” Richie waggled his eyebrows and was validated by a phlegmy snort. </p><p>“Who the fuck told you that?” Eddie asked, but he was already pulling him towards the bed, so Richie got the feeling he didn’t care much for a list of Richie’s references. </p><p>“My mom,” Richie answered anyway, without missing a beat. </p><p>She had, in fact, told him that. He’d probably only been five or six the last time she’d said it, but he’d lauded it over both his dad and Nicole for months. </p><p>“I’ll be the judge of that,” Eddie mumbled as he crawled up next to Richie. His entire body was even more of an inferno than usual, to the point that it made barely-fever-free Richie sweat nervously, but he held on anyway. </p><p>After a while, the thrilled tick of his heart holding Eddie slowed to match the even—if clogged—breaths puffing out against his skin. He didn’t even mind that Eddie had fallen asleep on him. The thought kind of thrilled him a little, knowing that Eddie felt safe enough to just sleep. </p><p>It was <em>such</em> a comfort, in fact, that it wasn’t long before Richie was sinking down into the dark behind him. </p><p>They both awoke a while later to Eddie’s bedroom doorknob rattling. </p><p>Eddie’s head whipped up, eyes horrified. Then, he shoved an already-rolling Richie hard enough that he fell to the floor with a sharp thud. </p><p>“Eddie-bear?” Sonia called, the doorknob still rattling. </p><p>“Shit, shit, shit,” Eddie hissed. He leapt out of bed and waved frantically for Richie to get under it. </p><p>Richie, working to rub the sting out of his ass, complied if only to save them both from having a heart attack right on the spot. </p><p>“Coming, Mommy,” Eddie called after Richie had flattened himself out under Eddie’s box spring. Eddie ripped the covers so they draped over the gap and practically sprinted to the door. </p><p>“Eddie, pumpkin, what was that noise?” Sonia asked. Richie pressed a hand over his mouth to steady his breath. It still seemed monstrously loud, and his fingers were shaking so much the sound was like a rattling engine. </p><p>“I fell out of the bed,” Eddie lied. He didn’t even sound like he was lying. Richie focused on that to keep from projectile vomiting in what promised to be a terrible scenario to do so. </p><p>“Did you have a bad dream? Why was the door locked?” Sonia asked. Her voice was sickly sweet, softer than Richie had heard it that morning, but he kind of thought that the way she’d spoken to him had been a realer version than the one standing in front of Eddie now. </p><p>“Sorry, I was going to change clothes but then decided to take a nap,” Eddie said. He sounded cool and confident and phlegmy. </p><p>Sonia hesitated, but Richie didn’t hear her press further into the room, so little by little, the shaking of his hands slowed. </p><p>“Okay, well,” she said after a moment. Richie could have sobbed with relief. He didn’t. He had his tongue clenched between his teeth so tight he was sure there would be blood. He just prayed his allergies didn’t act up with all the dust bunnies dancing around him in that moment. “Stanley brought your school work over.” </p><p>Richie chanced a peek over between the edge of the blanket and the floor, and through the sliver, he could see Eddie’s skinny ankles and nervous toes, his mother’s orthopedic shoes, and Stanley’s perfectly shined Oxfords. The Oxfords stepped into the room. </p><p>“Hi, Eddie,” Stanley said. Richie could practically hear the questioning tic of his eyebrows. Eddie might be good at lying to his mother, but no one was good at lying to Stanley Uris. </p><p>“Thanks, Mommy,” Eddie said, then all but slammed the door in her face. Richie listened to the exasperated huff leave Sonia’s lips from the hall, then listened for the retreat of her footsteps down the stairs before he allowed himself even a semblance of a relieved breath. Eddie flicked the lock and turned to Stan. </p><p>“Where do you want me to put these?” Stanley asked, referring, Richie assumed, to the pile of homework he’d brought. </p><p>“Could you just put them on the floor by the bed?” Eddie asked, and oh, God, he was such a little bastard, Richie loved him. He fucking loved him. He was going to die if he didn’t tell him soon. Then, Stanley was leaning down to place the books just beside Richie’s head, and Richie was only human. </p><p>His hand shot out, fingers snapping around Stan’s ankle. </p><p>“Boo!” </p><p>Eddie’s books went flying, and Stanley stumbled backwards so quick that he tripped on his own feet and crashed to the floor, hard. </p><p>“What the fuck!” Stanley screeched, while Richie and Eddie broke into a peal of laughter so intense that Richie could hardly get his limbs to coordinate enough to get him out from under the bed. “You’re such a bastard, Richie!” Stanley hissed, shoving Richie back down when he tried to stand. All it did was make Richie laugh harder, tears streaming down his cheeks. Eddie was a wheezing mess across the room, bracing his hands on his knees and laughing in a way that made Richie sure that dimple would just pop right off. </p><p>“Boys!” Sonia called sternly from down the stairs. “Eddie needs to rest. No rough-housing!”</p><p>They ignored her, but their laughter did quiet a little.</p><p>“Eddie’s the bastard,” Richie told Stan, pointing at the smug little dick by the door. “I was just gonna hide under there until the cops came looking for me, but he practically threw the shot at me.” </p><p>Stan—for as hard as he tried—didn’t manage to look completely unamused. </p><p>“You’re <em>both</em> bastards,” he said as he pushed himself to his feet. “What the fuck were you doing under there? Sniffing Eddie’s dirty underwear?” </p><p>Stan looked particularly pleased with his scathing indictment of Richie’s personality, but that hardly counted as a bad night in Richie’s book. </p><p>“God, I wish,” Richie said wistfully. Eddie threw a pair of socks at his head. </p><p>“Dick.” </p><p>“I was hiding under the bed so lover Sonia wouldn’t get jealous,” Richie said. This time, Eddie threw a whole shoe—Richie thought his aim was probably shit on purpose, because there was no way he thought it would actually hit him so far to the right. </p><p>“I made that joke earlier, dickwad!” Eddie snapped. </p><p>“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Richie said, waving him off, but when Eddie crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed by his shoulder, Richie leaned his head back against his knee, and Eddie’s hand fell immediately into the thick curls there. “We should do something fun when you feel better, Eds,” Richie said, closing his eyes and letting himself get a little lost in the blunt scrape of Eddie’s nails on his scalp. </p><p>“We as in, you and me, or we as in, the Losers?” Eddie tugged at a curl, and Richie did all he could not to melt into a puddle right there on his floor. “Cause it’d be kind of rude to plan a you-and-me with Stanley standing right there.” </p><p>“Stanley’s still here?” Richie asked, blinking his eyes open and swinging them around like he couldn’t see him. Stanley threw the match to the shoe Eddie had lobbed at him, but his aim was a little more punishing. It clocked Richie right in the shoulder. “Ow, asshole! I was kidding. Yeah, a Losers hangout.” </p><p>“I’ve got a track meet next Saturday,” Eddie said, and Richie’s brain took just a second to short-circuit over the memory of Eddie in his running shorts. </p><p>“Can I come?” Richie asked, tilting his head back to look at him. Eddie smiled down at him and pushed his fingers through Richie’s hair again. </p><p>“You want to come? It’ll probably be boring for you.” </p><p>“Hey, no, of course, I want to come, babe,” Richie said. He raised a hand and wrapped it around Eddie’s knee, just below where his face was already resting. “I want to support you. And I want to see you in those shorts.” </p><p>Eddie threw his head back and laughed. </p><p>“There he is,” Eddie said. He tugged sharply on Richie’s hair, and if that’s the way he was trying to silence the horny monster in Richie, that was <em>not</em> the way to go. </p><p>“Still here,” Stan reminded tersely, as though he had seen the way Richie’s dick had twitched in his jeans. (And actually, this time, Richie <em>had</em> forgotten he was still there.) Richie tried to remember what they’d been talking about. </p><p>“What about Sunday? You guys free? We could do a bonfire out by the quarry,” Richie said once he’d remembered. </p><p>“That sounds fun,” Eddie said. </p><p>“Stan?”</p><p>“I’ll see what Bill thinks, but I don’t see why not.” </p><p>“Gross, you guys are a ‘we,’ now,” Richie scoffed. He was mostly teasing. He was happy for his friends like he hoped they were happy for him. </p><p>“You were literally just talking about giving up a Saturday morning so you could support Eddie running in circles for five hours,” Stanley snapped back, and Richie knew he was happy for him, too. </p><p>“I’ll call Mike, Ben, and Bev, see if they’re down,” Richie said. </p><p>“You’re still the only one who knows who Ben and Bev are,” Stan said. </p><p>“Not true,” Eddie said. “I met Bev in the hospital and Ben at the festival last weekend.”</p><p>“Fuck yeah, fuck you and your semantics, Stanley,” Richie said, pumping his fist. Stanley rolled his eyes. </p><p>“I deeply regret encouraging this relationship,” he said dryly, but he was smiling a little when he went on. “I should get going. Once again, fuck you both for scaring the hell out of me.” Stanley cut them a warning look with his hand on Eddie’s doorknob, and it was nearly enough to send Richie back into hysterics. Even Stan cracked half of a smile. “Bye, you guys,” he said, then unlocked the door. </p><p>“Wait!” Richie whisper-yelled before he could get it open. “Do you think you guys could sneak me out through the front door?” Richie glanced back at the menacing tree swaying in the wind. “My knees haven’t de-jellied enough to tackle the tree in the downward direction.” </p><p>“You dumbass,” Stan said, but Richie knew better than to think that was a no.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Please enjoy a scene that I could not, for the life of me, figure out where else to put of Eddie after having hitched to the hospital in Bangor!</p><hr/><p>Eddie climbed out of the guy’s car feeling shamefully empty-handed as he offered a wave in thanks. The guy didn’t acknowledge it, just drove off looking about as irritated as he had the entire time since he’d picked Eddie up. Fuck him. He didn’t <em>have</em> to pick Eddie up, and it wasn’t Eddie’s fault that his maybe-still-God-please-let-him-be-still boyfriend had a heart condition and was refusing to answer calls. </p><p>At the sharp thought of Richie, Eddie hurried inside. He gave Richie’s name at the front nurses' desk, but the worn-looking nurse just looked at him like he was stupid. </p><p>“Richard Tozier, please,” Eddie said again, more insistent as the panic built up in him. He didn’t know why, but it was suddenly like there was a ticking clock on this whole thing. He wasn’t ready for the time to run out yet. He had too much he wanted to do with Richie. Too much he wanted to say. </p><p>“Richie’s not here,” the nurse said after a beat, and Eddie deflated. </p><p>“What?” </p><p>“Yeah, I think he had a check-up last week, but he hasn’t been back since.” </p><p>As her words sank in, Eddie was torn between city-leveling relief and the goddamn overwhelming urge to sob like a kid. If Richie wasn’t here…then it just meant he really didn’t want to talk to Eddie. It meant Eddie had fucked everything up, for real, for good, for fucking nothing. Over an almost-kiss at the top of a questionable Ferris wheel. </p><p>“Eddie?” he heard, in the far corner of his consciousness behind everything telling him he’d never get another chance with Richie. When he turned, he half-expected the feminine voice he’d heard to be his mother, somehow having tracked him down from two cities away, but when he turned, it was Bev with her red hair pulled back and face taut with concern. She looked like a breath of spring.</p><p>“Bev,” he breathed and walked over to her, though he hardly trusted his legs to carry him. </p><p>“Are you okay? Is Richie okay?” she asked. His name tore like a bullet through him, and Eddie closed his eyes and nodded. </p><p>“Yeah,” he said, but his voice cracked, and suddenly, he was standing in the middle of fucking St. Joseph Hospital with tears rolling down his face. Fucking Richie. Goddamn him. He turned everything up in Eddie, all the grief, the joy. He was fucking volatile. Bev’s arm was around him in a breath, and she guided him to a corner where no one else would be able to see him cry. </p><p>“What’s going on, Eddie?” Beverly asked, pulling a tissue out of her scrubs pocket and passing it to him. </p><p>“I fucked everything up, Bev,” Eddie said. “I was so scared of being seen with him that I didn’t let him kiss me, and he wouldn’t answer my calls, and I thought something bad had happened, his heart or something, but he’s not here, and he hates me, Bev. He hates me.” </p><p>She let him cry for a minute, rubbing his shoulder comfortingly until he managed to pull it together again. When he buried his shame of public-sobbing enough to look up at her, she was smiling down at him sadly. </p><p>“Eddie,” she started and looked away. “I think you and I both know that…well, there aren’t many Richie’s in the world. He’s something special.” </p><p>Eddie felt another hot rush of tears flood his eyes, but he willed them away. He knew Richie was special, and now, he’d lost him. Her eyes leveled on him again, and he nodded. </p><p>“Part of what makes him so special,” Bev went on, “Is that he’s unswervingly loyal. He doesn’t just drop people. Especially not the people he loves.” </p><p>The knot in his throat seemed to redouble, and he had to look away and swallow a few times before it released his vocal cords.</p><p>“Richie doesn’t love me,” he whispered. The mere idea was too…too incredible to fathom. Richie couldn’t love him. Bev’s thumb swept over his collarbone, but he didn’t look back at her. </p><p>“Richie’s full of surprises,” she said, smiling when he finally turned back to her. She nodded her head towards the nurses’ station. “Call him again.”</p><hr/>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Eddie tells Sonia.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tws: period-typical homophobia, slurs, internalized homophobia, hypothetical homophobic violence</p><p>See chapter end notes for Sonia spoilers.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div>
  <p>
  
    <em>September ‘93</em>
 
</p>
</div><p>Getting Richie out of the house unseen did, in fact, take stealth, but mostly just consisted of Eddie swallowing his dignity and telling his mommy he needed her to take his temperature for him because he was too sick and fragile to read the mercury thermometer. </p><p>Stan and Richie piled in the bathroom before she came up the stairs, then snuck Richie carefully down them while her attention was willingly allowed where she so often forced it anyway. </p><p>Eddie, the frenzied, feverish ghost of Richie’s lips still lingering on his, found her tutting relatively easy to ignore. Especially when Richie paused in the doorway to blow him a silent kiss over his mother’s shoulder. Eddie felt his face flame, but such is life and being in a relationship with Richie fucking Tozier. </p><p>That was still a wild concept. Richie had called him his boyfriend. Richie was his boyfriend. </p><p>“Goodbye, Mrs. Kaspbrak,” Stanley called, banging down the stairs extra-loud to cover any noise Richie might have slipped up and made. </p><p>Then, they were out, and the front door was whispering closed, and Eddie was back to being stuck with the flu and his mother. </p><p>But Richie had climbed into his window just to see him, even though he was afraid of heights. He’d made him soup, even though he’d forgotten it. He’d held him while he slept out his fever, even though he was the one that had given it to him to begin with. Richie had jumped at the quarry, and he’d climbed in through his window, and he’d made him soup, and it all made Eddie’s insides churn with joy and pleasure. </p><p>Richie was a dumbass, but the kind of dumbass Eddie wanted to kiss stupid every single day for maybe the rest of ever. </p><p>He nearly dropped the thermometer out of his mouth on that thought. </p><p>He’d grown somewhat accustomed to the idea of wanting to kiss Richie every day for the foreseeable future, but wanting to do so for the indefinite future seemed…like a bigger step. </p><p>Sonia’s hand swiped around under his chin and tugged. Eddie’s eyes, glazed with a slow-dawning inkling of realization, snapped to her. </p><p>“What?” he said around the thermometer. </p><p>“I should take you to the doctor again,” Sonia said, frowning, and Eddie groaned. </p><p>“They already told you it’s the flu,” Eddie said. He shoved the thought of Richie away—as successfully as he could, at least—and tried to focus on <em>not</em> going back to the doctor. </p><p>“You had your flu shot, Eddie-bear. You shouldn’t have gotten the flu. What if it’s a rare strain and your body can’t fight it off?” </p><p>“You know flu shots aren’t completely effective. It’s just the regular flu, Mom,” he said, pulling the thermometer out of his mouth and checking it. “Look. The fever’s already going down.” </p><p>“What if you’re dehydrated?” </p><p>“I’m not!” </p><p>“I bet that boy Richie gave it to you, didn’t he?” </p><p>“Mom,” Eddie snapped. He’d listened to her bitch about Richie for an hour already, and he’d had to swallow down every word defending him not to make it worse. But he didn’t think he could do it again. It wasn’t fucking fair. Richie deserved better. It wasn’t fucking fair that people like her felt so fucking secure in their beliefs and their hatreds that they could say the things they did without consequences. It wasn’t fucking fair. </p><p>“I told you not to get involved with him, Eddie! I told you he was trouble, and then he shows up <em>here</em> asking for you!” Eddie felt the rage boiling up, simmering under his fever and his exhaustion and making him tremble. “What am I supposed to think? He’s already gotten you sick! He’s <em>dirty</em>, Eddie! He’s—” </p><p>“Just say he’s queer, Mom!” Eddie shouted, yanking his face away from her. “He’s queer, and you hate him for it, and that is <em>not</em> my problem, okay?!” </p><p>He took some small satisfaction in watching her eyes widen with shock, but he’d gotten started, and there was nothing but fever and that trademark Richie bravery pulsing around in him. The slow-dawning realization he'd been circling earlier suddenly <em>burst</em> up, and he was suddenly <em>rattling</em> with the thought of <em>Jesus Christ, I love him, I love him, God, I fucking love him</em>. </p><p>“Eddie,” she hissed, but he cut her off, just as before. </p><p>“No! Goddamn it, no, okay?” Sonia’s mouth snapped stunned-shut at his profanity. Eddie barreled on, chest heaving, manic and untouchable. “Richie is a <em>good</em> person, Ma. He’s sweet and thoughtful, and he makes me brave, and he makes me laugh so hard I think I’m gonna puke, and he makes me feel like I actually <em>belong</em> for once in my life! So don’t sit there and tell me how dirty he is or how bad of an influence he is just because <em>I</em> kissed him and got the flu.” </p><p>Sonia’s mouth fell open again, and she stared at him with tears in her eyes. </p><p>Eddie realized all at once that he’d admitted to kissing Richie. </p><p>She was ramrod straight on his bed, mattress sinking in around her like the stone in Eddie’s gut. </p><p>“You…you did this?” she asked quietly. A tear rolled down her cheek, and it hurt more than he’d thought it would have, because he knew the difference between when she cried in manipulation and when she cried for real. This was real, and suddenly, he was crying too. </p><p>“I love him,” he whimpered, like it could make everything better. God, he was so stupid to think loving him could make it better, stupid, stupid. </p><p>“What about me? Don’t you love me?” Another fat, weighty tear rolled down her face, and he threw his head back into the pillow. </p><p>“God, of course, I love you, Mom. You’re all I’ve ever had.” </p><p>“Then why are you doing this?” she asked sharply, voice shaking. “Why are you saying these things to hurt me?”</p><p>“I’m not saying this to hurt you!” Part of him wanted her to reach out and wipe his tears like she used to. Something to show that she didn’t hate him. She was a lot of things, but he’d never wanted her to hate him. </p><p>“You have a choice, Eddie,” she said sharply, and he sobbed harder. </p><p>“Do you think I asked for this? Do you think I want to feel the way that I do? Broken and wrong and terrified all the time?”</p><p>“If you feel that way, it’s because what you’re doing isn’t <em>natural</em>.”</p><p>“I feel this way because <em>you tell me</em> that I’m supposed to feel this way! He is so good to me, Mama. Better than I fucking deserve, and that’s a fact, and I was ashamed of him. <em>Ashamed</em> of the one good thing to ever happen to me, because you’ve got me so twisted up in the head that I thought there was something wrong with me for wanting someone that made me feel so fucking good!” </p><p>“He’s diseased, Eddie, and he’s made you diseased, too!” </p><p>“He’s not.” </p><p>“You met him in the<em> hospital</em>, Eddie! He’s diseased.” </p><p>“He’s got a heart condition! You didn’t even give him a chance. You just saw him flirting with Mike, who he wasn’t <em>even</em> flirting with, and painted him as a fag like every other goddamn small-minded asshole in this town. You gonna try to throw him into the Kenduskeag too?!” </p><p>“Eddie!” Sonia hissed sharply. </p><p>“You <em>know</em> that’s what happens to boys like me and him, Mom,” Eddie pushed, suddenly desperate, unhinged. Practically flayed alive. “You’ve seen it. I can’t even hold his hand in public because I’m so scared some asshole’s gonna see and immediately try to kick our heads in. So tell me, do you think that I <em>wanted </em>this?” </p><p>Sonia stared at him, her jaw working, frowning so hard that her eyes almost seemed to disappear. Then she stood, Eddie’s heart pounding. Was she leaving him? Was she going to throw him out? Kick his head in? Toss him into the Kenduskeag? </p><p>“I’ll be back in a few hours with more cold medicine,” she said and left the room. </p><p>Eddie sat there. And cried. And cried. And cried. He thought about calling Richie, just like he’d done the last time he’d gotten into such a big fight with his mother, but the thought of hearing Richie’s voice made him feel like his insides would pour out of him and singe to ash against the dank air of his room. </p><p>He just wanted to wallow for a bit. He could put on his brave face and figure out what the fuck to make of the rest of his life when his mother hated him tomorrow, but right then, he just wanted to cry. </p><p>After a while, the fever pulled him back under, and he had vivid, shrieking dreams of the same leper he’d dreamed of during his stomach bug. Its skin was sloughing off, and only one of its eyes could follow Eddie, but that one eye…Eddie would know anywhere that it was Richie’s. </p><p>He awoke with a start in a puddle of sweat and tears, swearing to himself that he wasn’t going to pull away from Richie again. He wasn't going to let his fear hurt them. He loved Richie. </p><p>That was the fact of it, wasn’t it? That was the big, terrifying thought that had been rattling around in him ever since he saw Richie leap off the cliff at the quarry, even though he was afraid. Even though they were both afraid. Richie had never made him feel anything but safe, anything but brave. </p><p>It was almost enough to have him reaching for the phone, even though the thought of hearing Richie’s voice still made him feel like his skin was being sheared off, because he loved him and because he was queer and because Eddie knew deep in his bones that people would never <em>really</em> be okay with that, and because Richie was enough, he was <em>enough</em>. </p><p>But when he turned to pick the phone up off his bedside table, his breath caught. There was a small mound of pills that hadn’t been there when he’d fallen asleep. </p><p>His mother had never once, in the whole history of his life, brought him medicines and not woken him up immediately to take them. But she’d brought them. And it was something. </p><p>Eddie swallowed the pills dry and laid back in bed pretending the catch in his throat was the pills working their way down instead of the ridiculous urge to cry again, shaky hope crashing through him because she'd brought him pills and because she maybe didn’t hate him. </p><p>He was still awake when she brought another round of meds for him later, and she laid them on the nightstand without looking at him. Eddie watched her, hoping to catch her eye, but she just turned with her head down and walked back towards his door. </p><p>“Thanks, Mommy,” he whispered. </p><p>She paused and turned her face back to him. Her eyes were on the foot of his bed, but she nodded a little. He could tell she’d been crying. </p><p>“We’ll talk when you’re feeling better, okay?” she said, then left. </p><p>They spent the weekend quietly. She brought him his meds, soup, and the thermometer, but she didn’t say much. Neither did Eddie. The whole house seemed to be breathing with her footsteps, but it didn’t really feel alive. The TV was silent. The phone never rang. They hardly spoke to one another. </p><p>Stan brought over more of his homework on Tuesday, and Sonia led him upstairs without looking at Eddie. </p><p>The first thing Stan did when entering Eddie’s room was place his assignments gingerly on the desk. The second thing, almost immediately after, was lob a kick at one of Eddie’s track shoes, sending it skittering under his bed and crashing out the other side into his dresser. </p><p>It was the first loud noise Eddie’d heard in a while, and it made him jump. </p><p>“Jesus, Stan!” Eddie said, but Stan just grinned, smug. </p><p>“Can never be too careful about what’s lurking under your bed,” he said. He dragged Eddie’s chair out from under the desk, spun it around to face Eddie, and sat with an expectant eyebrow raised. “So, how are you feeling?” he asked. </p><p>“I feel better. I’ll probably be back at school tomorrow. Maybe Thursday.” Stan nodded. They stared at each other in silence for a long while. Eddie could tell from the tight pinch of his eyebrows that Stan knew something more was wrong, and he knew Stan was waiting for him to say it. He sighed. No one was good at lying to Stanley Uris. “I came out to my mom,” he said after a beat. </p><p>Stan, for all the poker face he tried to project, obviously wasn’t expecting <em>that</em> to come out of Eddie’s mouth. His jaw practically landed on the floor before he managed to scrabble it up and form half a sentence.</p><p>“You <em>what</em>?!” he asked. Eddie felt himself shrink down in his bed. </p><p>“I didn’t really mean to,” he said quietly. “She was railing on Richie, and I just…it came out.” He blinked. “Or, I guess I came out.” He found something of a laugh in him and dragged it out, but Stan didn’t look amused. </p><p>“Eddie, you realize that half this fucking town rails on Richie constantly, right?”</p><p>“Yeah, I know. Pisses me off.” </p><p>Stan scoffed. </p><p>“You gonna come out to them, too?” Stan shot. His tone was sharp and nasty, and suddenly, <em>he</em> was pissing Eddie off, too. </p><p>“Kind of thought you’d be a little more supportive here, Stan,” Eddie said. He knew his tone was harsh to match Stan’s, but whatever. </p><p>Stan recoiled like someone had slapped him. Then, he slumped forward in his seat. </p><p>“Sorry. Me and Bill have been kind of going through the same thing. It seems it’s becoming a sore subject.” </p><p>“Sorry,” Eddie said, biting back a shudder. Literally the week before, he and Richie had been hashing out that same argument. He wanted to die every time he thought about how hurt Richie had looked. </p><p>He realized with a jolt that he didn’t have to do that anymore. He could hold Richie’s hand. Yeah, he still had to worry about taking a dive into the Kenduskeag, but at the root of it, what he’d been most worried about was his mom finding out. And for better or worse, she had. </p><p>“It’s okay,” Stan said, straightening up and waving him off. “We’ll figure it out, I suppose.” He eyed Eddie warily for a moment. “So, how’d she take it?” he asked, and Eddie sunk deeper into his blankets. </p><p>“I mean…not as bad as I was expecting, actually. She cried, and I cried, and she asked why I didn’t love her. But she didn’t kick me out. She said we’d talk when I was feeling better.” </p><p>Stan was quiet for a long while, and when he finally spoke, his voice was very small. </p><p>“Are you scared?” he asked.</p><p>Eddie let out a slow breath, watching Stan carefully. </p><p>“Terrified,” he admitted. “But I don’t regret it.” Stan’s eyes snapped up to Eddie. “Richie’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he said softly, and when he saw tears well up in Stan’s eyes, he cleared his throat and wiped the sappiness away before continuing, “And if you ever tell him that, I’ll skin you in your sleep, got it?” </p><p>Stan huffed a watery laugh. </p><p>“Don’t worry. I have no intention of inflating Richie’s ego any more than it is already.” </p><p>After that, Stan pushed himself up with his hands on his knees and shook Eddie’s shoulder. </p><p>“I’ll see you, Ed. I’m really proud of you.”</p><p>Eddie swallowed, his throat tight. </p><p>“Hey Stan?” Stan paused at the door, eyes turned back on Eddie. “I…I think it’s worth it. Come what may, he’s worth it.” Stan didn’t take his eyes off Eddie, just considered him for a long, quiet moment, and Eddie didn’t look away. Eddie knew that he could probably only empathize with a fraction of what Stanley was going through, son of the Rabbi, but he knew Stan was terrified. He also saw the way Stan looked at Bill and knew that, when it came down to it, Bill would be worth it for Stan, too. </p><p>Eventually, he offered Eddie a barely-there smile, then left. </p><p>Thursday morning, Eddie found himself sitting quietly at the kitchen table, pushing around his watery scrambled eggs while his mother slowly drained her coffee. Something about the air, or about the fact that he was returning to school that day and, thereby, was feeling better, told him that <em>this</em> was the moment he’d been working himself up over. This was the moment Sonia would make her judgement on his sins. </p><p>And he’d have to live with it for the rest of his life. </p><p>He probably could have gone back to school the day before. He’d been fever-free since before Stan had dropped his homework off on Tuesday, but he wanted to stay in Sonia’s good graces for exactly the conversation he could practically feel ramping up inside her. He felt like the whole room was being sucked inside out, like a jet engine was powering on. Everything was buzzing, and Sonia just kept sipping at her coffee, eyes blank. </p><p>Finally, Eddie couldn’t take it anymore. His fork hit the plate with a clatter, and his voice was like a bottle rocket exploding desperate into the quiet kitchen. </p><p>“Can you just say something?” he gasped. He tried to reign in how whiney he sounded, but his breath was shaking too much to really control that. </p><p>Sonia blinked at him measuredly over the top of her coffee mug. When she set it down, it was with all the sluggishness that made him feel like his skin was about to jump right off him. </p><p>“What would you like for me to say?” she asked evenly. </p><p>“Anything. Literally anything, Mom,” he said immediately. His voice cracked on her name, and he swallowed. “Best-case scenario, you offer to pay for mine and Richie’s honeymoon to Bora Bora, and worst-case, you claw my eyes out in a truly harrowing fit of homophobic rage before you shear my skin off a layer at a time.” </p><p>Eddie felt manic, the words spilling out of him before he could reel them in entirely, but aside from a slight widening of her eyes, Sonia remained impassive. Eddie swallowed again, found it harder and harder each time he tried. His heart trilled in his chest, and he gripped his own coffee mug like it could ground him somehow. It was warm, at the very least, which was not nothing, considering how September was closing out with a vengeance and left him chilled to his core in the wake of his body just remembering how to self-regulate his temperature again. </p><p>“I would settle,” Eddie said slowly, after a measured breath, “For just knowing what you’re thinking. Anything is better than this silence.” </p><p>Sonia held his eyes for a long, long moment, the tension in Eddie zapping around like a cornered animal. Then, she dropped her eyes, and Eddie felt himself crash all at once. </p><p>He realized with sudden, dizzying clarity what was happening. She didn’t even want to talk to him. She’d taken care of him while he was sick because he was her responsibility, but that was it. </p><p>He was nothing to her. Not anymore. </p><p>Eddie’s throat started working around the swelling knot as he told himself not to cry. He wouldn’t cry. He’d be fine. He’d go to school and run track and laugh with Richie and spend his nights in a silent house with a silent mother in a silent home, and he’d never take for granted a single word that spewed from Richie’s mouth because it would be all he’d get, and Richie was <em>enough</em>, he was, but before he knew it, hot, shaking tears were racing down his face. </p><p>“Sorry,” he gasped and pushed himself away from the table quickly. He didn’t know why he was apologizing. For being queer. For disappointing her. For crying when he knew there was no point to it. He jerked up his plate and dumped the uneaten breakfast in the trash before yanking the hot water on and scrubbing frantically at the china until the water had long turned scalding and the plate was beyond clean. </p><p>“Eddie, did you hear me?” Sonia asked, and Eddie froze. He wiped his cheeks on his shoulders before twisting the water off and turning around. She was watching him intently, frowning, and Eddie’s heart stumbled. </p><p>“No,” he said softly. </p><p>“I said that Bora Bora’s nasty this time of year.” </p><p>Her frown quivered a little, shifted into something of a grimace that Eddie knew, he <em>knew</em> was her trying to smile. An olive branch.</p><p>And just like that, he was sobbing again. His knees gave out, and he sunk down the cabinet-front, burying his face in his knees and sobbing. Everything was pushing at him, washing over him and through him, and he was tired. God, he was tired, and his mother was making a joke about his hypothetical Bora Bora honeymoon with <em>Richie</em> like she didn’t think they were both going to burn in Hell for loving each other. Like she didn’t hate him. </p><p>Distantly, Eddie heard the far scrape of a chair being displaced, and when Sonia’s arms wrapped around Eddie, pulling his face into her neck, by God, he clung to her. It was the first time in a long, long time he’d felt comforted by his mother’s touch, and he sat there crying like a little kid for an eternity.</p><p>“Eddie, I’m not happy about this thing with Richie,” she said softly, fingers combing through his hair. He nodded, cried harder against her. “But you’re my son,” she murmured. “I love you, and it’s my job to protect you, and the thought of…of what might happen to you because of this, well, you need to have somewhere that you know you’re safe. You’re safe here, Eddie.”  </p><p>Honestly, he might have been content to ditch school and sit there in the floor with his mother who didn’t hate him for maybe the rest of his high school career, but just then, a quick knock sounded at the door. Sonia pulled away, and Eddie had to fight to swallow down a whimper. </p><p>“If that’s Richie, tell him I’d like to speak to him,” she said, not unkindly. Still, Eddie’s insides were too pulverized to feel anything but immediate fear. She smiled at him again, like she sensed it, and brushed a thumb under his eye to catch a tear. “It’s okay,” she said softly. </p><p>“Thank you,” he whispered when he found his voice. She nodded and pushed him to his feet to get the door. </p><p>When he pulled it open and saw Richie’s grinning face, it took everything in him not to cry again—God, when did he become such a <em>crier</em>? He’d evidently spent too much time with Claire last semester. </p><p>“Eds?” Richie asked immediately, eyes tracing the tears still clinging to Eddie’s cheeks. Eddie stepped out onto the porch and pulled the door shut behind him before yanking Richie to him and tucking in under his chin with a fervor. He smelled so good, like coffee and birch and <em>Richie</em>, Eddie wanted to melt into it. </p><p>Richie’s arms came up around him, and Eddie let out a shaking breath into his collarbone. He’d been so prepared for Richie to become the only home he’d have—he was enough, he was everything—but his mother didn’t hate him, and that felt damn good. </p><p>“My mom wants you to say hi,” Eddie mumbled against Richie’s chest. The way Richie stiffened might have been almost comical, if Eddie hadn’t been seriously enjoying the sure, comforting way Richie had been holding him. </p><p>“What?” he croaked, and Eddie pulled back just enough to look up at him. His already-pale face had gone about three shades whiter, and Eddie loved him. He squeezed Richie tighter, suddenly remembering what he’d realized over the course of his illness. He loved Richie. </p><p>“I told her about us,” Eddie said, watching as Richie’s eyes grew to take up about half of his face. As the horror spread across Richie’s face, Eddie felt a stone fall back into his gut. “I’m sorry. Did-did you not want me to?” he asked hesitantly. </p><p>Richie shook himself a bit. </p><p>“What? No, no, of course, Eds.” One of Richie’s hands came around to smooth down Eddie’s cheek, cupping as Eddie leaned into it. “I’m just…wow. I’m just surprised. How’d she take it?” </p><p>“Good,” Eddie murmured. “Better than I would have hoped.” </p><p>Richie’s eyes softened, and he leaned down to press a firm kiss to Eddie’s forehead. </p><p>“I’m so happy for you, sweetheart,” he murmured, lips still brushing skin. Eddie closed his eyes, tried to live in that moment like he could keep everything about it pristine in his memory. </p><p>“Me too, Rich,” Eddie said. He squeezed Richie’s middle and drew in a deep breath. “I’m so happy right now.” </p><p>Richie kept his lips against Eddie’s forehead for another beat, then pulled away and smiled. </p><p>“Come on. It’s time to meet your maker,” he said, and Eddie groaned. </p><p>“You’d think I’d be used to the horrible way you choose to phrase things, but it never fails to upset me,” Eddie said, turning and shoving open the door. He felt Richie’s warm presence follow him inside, but when he turned back just before the kitchen, Richie was standing sheepishly on the welcome mat.</p><p>“It’s okay, Richie,” Eddie said softly. He held out a hand to him, and Richie looked at it for a second before drawing in a breath and stepping forward to claim it.</p><p>They entered the kitchen just like that, hand in hand. Sonia had picked herself up off the ground and had resituated in her breakfast chair, coffee once again in hand. She didn’t smile when she saw them, but she didn’t glower either, and Eddie wasn’t about to start being picky, especially as Richie’s fingers squeezed around his to a near-deathlike grip. Eddie pumped twice, just to let him know that he still had him. </p><p>“Mom,” Eddie said. He was glad to hear that his voice had lost its tremor, and his chin refused to wobble. “You remember Richie.” He didn’t tip it like a question. They both knew she remembered. </p><p>“Have a seat,” she said, waving to the chairs opposite her. Then, she added as an afterthought, “Please.” </p><p>Richie glanced over to Eddie, who nodded just the slightest bit, before they were letting go of one another and settling in at the table. </p><p>Eddie’s chest buzzed as Sonia appraised them, taking in Richie’s loud clothes—he’d opted for an obnoxious, purple-striped <em>Beetlejuice</em> t-shirt under a surprisingly tasteful denim jacket and his usual seen-better-days blue jeans—and his too-large glasses. </p><p>Even though Sonia had said she still loved Eddie, he felt fiercely protective over Richie in that moment, watching the anxious jiggle of his knee from the corner of his eye and wanting nothing more than to end the scrutiny. </p><p>“We’ve never officially met,” Sonia said after a while, and Eddie saw Richie visibly deflate just at the silence being broken. He knew the feeling. His mother went on, “I’m Sonia Kaspbrak, and Eddie tells me your name is Richie.” </p><p>Eddie tried to pay attention. Really. He did. He tried to listen to the words his mother said to Richie, and he tried to listen to the words Richie said back. He wanted to do that for him, for both of them, but it felt too surreal. His ears wouldn’t stop ringing, and the more relaxed Richie looked beside him, the more Eddie felt like a spring coiling down. He <em>wanted</em> to listen, but he couldn’t shake the buzz from his brain. </p><p>By the time Richie was standing up and Eddie was following on base instinct, kissing his mother’s cheek, and trailing out after him, Richie wasn’t exactly frowning but he wasn’t exactly smiling either. </p><p>He wrapped an absent arm around Eddie’s shoulders and pulled him against his side as they walked to the truck. Eddie shook himself. </p><p>“Rich,” he said, and Richie hummed, not looking down. Eddie wrapped his arm around Richie’s middle and squeezed. Richie blinked and looked down, smiling a little. “I think I blacked out in there. What’d she say?” </p><p>Richie threw his head back and laughed. </p><p>“I wondered why you didn’t object when she said she’d show me that picture of you wearing her clothes for superhero day in the second grade.” </p><p>Eddie slung a hard elbow back into Richie’s ribs, frowning at Richie’s heightened giggling. </p><p>“Asshole,” he muttered as Richie tugged him tighter against him. </p><p>“It was fine,” Richie said. They parted ways at Richie’s truck and met again inside, Richie still smiling. “I mean, I definitely don’t think she’s going to be throwing me any person-of-the-year parties, but at least she didn’t spit in my face.” </p><p>“I’m sorry,” Eddie said, claiming Richie’s hand as they pulled out onto the street. </p><p>“Why are you apologizing?” Richie asked, his brow furrowed. </p><p>“I dunno. Just…overall. I’m sorry that it’s me. That I couldn’t be easier.” Eddie frowned down at their clasped hands, guilt churning in him. He loved Richie, and that meant he wanted life to be easy for Richie, not this incessant hell-pool where he lost his shit in public and had a mom with a lukewarm welcome wagon. </p><p>When Richie spoke, the intensity of his voice shocked Eddie. </p><p>“Don’t say that,” he practically snarled. Both of his hands were clenched tight, one around the steering wheel, one around Eddie’s fingers. He tore his eyes off the road to bear down into Eddie. “You’re the only reason that I want this, any of this. So, your mom didn’t roll out the red carpet. Eds, who fucking cares?”</p><p>“I care,” Eddie cut in softly, but Richie just grunted and turned back to the road. </p><p>“Honestly, Eddie, I may fuck your mom on the regular, but I’m here for <em>you</em>,” Richie said, grinning a little. Eddie scoffed and squeezed Richie’s fingers tight in punishment, which only served to make Richie’s grin grow. He went on, soft around his smile, “I don’t care about her. I care about you.” </p><p>The words hung in the air for a long moment. Eddie felt his answer well up in the back of his throat, bubble and moan, <em>I love you, I love you, I love you</em>, but they were stuck there. All Eddie could do was stare at Richie as they drove down the road, sunlight glinting back off his glasses and haloing through his hair, across the slope of his nose. <em>I love you, I love you, I love you.</em> </p><p>“Besides,” Richie went on with a shrug, before Eddie could drag the words out of himself. “It’s not like it was a shitty first meeting.”</p><p>“It wasn’t even your first meeting,” Eddie answered, the knot finally loosening in his throat. He thought it was exactly his luck that his throat would close up on the important shit but be free as a little tweety-bird for nagging Richie about semantics. </p><p>“Yeah, well,” Richie said. “Our first meeting as your boyfriend.” </p><p>Eddie smiled down into his shirt. It already smelled like Richie, just from the hug he’d pulled him into on his front porch. </p><p>“Hey, I, uh,” Richie started, “I never really asked if that was okay…” </p><p>“What?” Eddie asked, glancing up at him. God, he looked fucking beautiful. Like the sun was shining straight out of his pores. They were going to be late to class, to school, to the rest of their lives, and Eddie couldn’t be bothered to give a single fuck. He loved Richie, and Richie was so fucking beautiful. </p><p>“Me saying I’m your boyfriend.” Richie glanced over at Eddie, looking so hesitant, so hopeful, that Eddie could hardly stand it. He had half a mind to demand Richie pull to a stop right there on the roadside so Eddie could climb into his lap and kiss him stupid. </p><p>Then, he realized that Richie was waiting—probably agonized—for a response. </p><p>“God, yes,” Eddie breathed, all the emotion and love pouring out of him onto those two little words. It was all he had the moment, and he prayed it would be enough. </p><p>“Yes?” Richie echoed, the corner of his lip quirking up. </p><p>Fuck, Eddie loved him. It was like, suddenly, the entire world was being cast through Richie, a stained-glass window that colored his whole life instead of just the two of them existing in the same place. </p><p>He took half a second to wonder at the sheer improbability of them existing at all, at all the complete impossibilities that led to them being there in that truck, holding hands. All the stars that had to explode. All the planets that had to crumble. All the species that had to die so that they could sit there together, breathe the same air, and love. </p><p>The words nearly leapt from him then, the <em>I love you, I love you, I love you</em>, but he choked them down. Richie’s truck smelled like the soup he’d forgotten in it a week ago, and like Richie, and Eddie wanted to spend the rest of his life with him. He had to wait for a spectacular moment to tell him that. </p><p>Then, he thought somewhat distantly, that every moment with Richie was a spectacular one, and he leveled with himself that he was still—and always—just chicken shit. He couldn’t tell Richie, yet. He’d only just figured it out himself a few days earlier. He had to let it sit with himself for a bit. </p><p>“Yes?” Richie echoed again, smiling at the dumb grin growing on Eddie’s face. The sound, somewhat distant in all of Eddie’s love-drunk ramblings, took a second to register. </p><p>“Yes. Yes, please. Be my boyfriend,” Eddie said. His tongue caught on boyfriend, but instead of fear, the fear that he had a <em>boy</em>friend, it was pure, ecstatic joy. He had a boyfriend, officially. And more, that boyfriend was Richie fucking Tozier, whom he loved. </p><p>Richie cut him a grin so brilliant, so stunning, that Eddie wasn’t sure he’d ever recover. Wasn’t sure that he wanted to. He felt high on life. Richie had met his mother—as his <em>boyfriend</em>—and had lived to tell about it. Richie was sitting there beside him, clutching his hand, grinning like it was fucking Christmas morning. The world was stunning. </p><p>When they pulled into the school, there were no students milling about, and Richie let go of his hand to shift the car into park and shoulder his way out. Eddie did the same but crossed the front of Richie’s truck to reclaim his hand again. </p><p>Richie shot a wide-eyed look between their publicly-enjoined fingers and Eddie's face, but Eddie set his jaw. </p><p>“I’m done hiding,” he said, feeling so sure. Then, when Richie’s wide eyes didn’t narrow even a bit, feeling just a smidgen less sure. “Is that okay?” </p><p>Richie blinked. Then scoffed.</p><p>“Fuck yeah, it is. Let’s go.” He hiked his bag higher up on his shoulder and clasped Eddie’s hand all the way through the empty halls. It was magical.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So....you guys can fight me on Sonia’s characterization in this chapter if you want. I recognize that, in canon, it’s unlikely that she’d ever even be lukewarm okay with Eddie liking boys, but also…I want that for him, and this is fanfic. So fuck it. </p><p>(And honestly, having Sonia be typical-Sonia put this story at a stand-still for literal months, so just for the sake of me wanting to continue writing this fic, she’s at a lukewarm acceptance.)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which the Losers (finally) convene and there is (a little) fire involved.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>(Psst, the lovely art on chapter 1, courtesy of <a href="https://mere-mortifer-art.tumblr.com/">Mere_Mortifer</a>, is from this chapter.)</p><p>tws: period-typical homophobia, Thoughts about sex, vaguely NSFW? (?), vague mention of Bev's abuse, mention of the Vomit Incident circa chapter 2, contemplation of death (relating to Richie's heart), depressed thought-narrative (Does that make sense? Let me know if you're concerned on that one and I'll try to clarify.)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
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    <em>October ‘93</em>
 
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</div><p>Having Eddie back at school after the flu was liberating. He was like a new person, but in the greatest way. He held Richie’s hand in the hallways, sat pressed against him shoulder-to-thigh at lunch, and kept that adorable little jut in his jaw that told Richie—and anyone else who might test him—that he was not there to fuck around. The sight alone made Richie giddy, but Eddie was ferocious. Even the jut of his jaw didn’t hold a candle to the way Henry Bowers’ understudy tried to make them feel like shit for being together and Eddie snapped right the fuck off on him. </p><p>Richie’d seen the kid coming and had already loosened his grip on Eddie’s hand, ready to pull away and save him the brunt of it, when Eddie clamped down around his fingers and shot him a look. </p><p>The punk—Richie had never bothered to learn his name, “Bowers’ understudy” worked just fine—had opened his mouth on a sneer, and Eddie had whipped around, already shouting. </p><p>“Lose the fucking mullet before you question <em>my</em> life choices,” Eddie had said, still hauling Richie along by the hand.</p><p>Richie had stared at him in awe. </p><p>It didn’t stop there. Richie would have been fine, perfectly and entirely content if it had, don’t get him wrong. But it didn’t. </p><p>Richie went to Eddie’s track meet on Saturday, screamed at the top of his lungs every time his beautiful boyfriend sprinted past his seat on the front row of the bleachers, earning quite a few half-buried smiles from Eddie and full-on glares from the other spectators. Richie had no idea if he was actually winning, but he looked damn good out there, and Richie was enjoying himself in spite of his fingers going numb and frozen before the runners had even finished the first lap. </p><p>Richie had brought flowers, too, and they rested on the bench beside him. He’d planned on making a whole scene, but before he could start throwing them at Eddie's feet with senseless, dramatic Italian-Voiced pleas for an encore, Eddie was wheeling around after the last lap, past the finish line and doubling back towards him in the sidelines. He practically hurdled the fence that separated the bleachers from the track, and when there was nothing between them, he slammed into an already-standing Richie so hard it nearly bowled him over. His sweat-soaked arms sprung up around Richie’s neck, and Richie held him aloft, laughing into the dampness of his shoulder. </p><p>Eddie’s body was singing like a livewire in his arms, hot and electric, and when he pulled back, Richie barely had a chance to blink before he was pressing their mouths together in front of God and everyone. Richie really should have been too stunned to kiss back, but this was Eddie fucking Kaspbrak macking on him, and there was rarely a moment in which Richie wasn’t immediately prepared to kiss him completely senseless. He wasn’t sure how long they stayed there, Eddie suspended in his arms, his lips moving determinedly against Richie’s, but when they finally separated, Richie had to take a solid five seconds to get his brain unscrambled enough to form a sentence. </p><p>“I can’t believe you just kissed me in front of the whole town,” he whispered as Eddie slid back to the ground, his hands still on Richie’s shoulders. Eddie’s face burned scarlet, but his eyes were bright and excited, and Richie fucking loved him so much that his whole body was trembling with it. </p><p>“Yeah, well, <em>I</em> can’t believe you sat out here alone for two hours,” Eddie said, pushing Richie’s shoulders a bit so he swayed backward. </p><p>“Oh, I wasn’t alone. I made friends with that kid,” Richie said, grinning and nodding towards the kid who he’d made spray soda out of his nose ten minutes earlier. The kid was now sitting on his mother’s other side, and the mom was casting them dirty looks. Richie turned back to Eddie, still smiling. “We definitely scarred him for life.” </p><p>“If he made friends with you, babe, he was already scarred for life,” Eddie said. Richie felt lit up inside, like a supernova was rattling around between his ribs, and this, <em>this</em> was why he loved Eddie. Eddie was so <em>alive</em> and so hungry for the world, and Richie might have been little more than a walking corpse before Eddie’d crashed into his life, but he was <em>alive</em> now. Alive and in love and he wanted all of it. He was practically ravenous to live, to live, to live. </p><p>He slid his hands around and cupped Eddie’s face again, kissing him softly once more before Eddie pulled away with a hiss.</p><p>“Jesus, your hands are cold.” </p><p>“Yeah, dude, it’s fucking freezing out here.” </p><p>“It’s literally like fifty degrees, dipshit.” </p><p>“Well, whatever, you’re hot enough for the both of us,” Richie said, winking and holding his palms towards Eddie like he was a flame. (Richie still wasn’t convinced he wasn’t.) </p><p>Eddie snorted and tugged his wrist towards the stairs. </p><p>“Don’t you have another event?” Richie asked, but Eddie just tugged again and grinned over his shoulder. Richie snagged the flowers off the bench and tipped his imaginary hat at everyone still glaring at them before following Eddie down. </p><p>“The next event’s not for another hour or so,” Eddie said as they cut across the crisp grass on the outside of the track. </p><p>“What do you suppose we do with that spare time, Mr. Spaghetti?” Richie asked, slinging an arm around Eddie’s shoulders and feeling his heart jump happily when Eddie pushed closer and linked their fingers, no hesitation. “I could go for a milkshake, huh?” </p><p>He wasn’t entirely sure what the recommendations were for milkshakes before a big run, but lately, he’d been craving that goopy deliciousness—<em>not</em> cookie dough, fuck cookie dough—and the diner was barely five minutes away. </p><p>When he glanced down at Eddie, the scarlet was back, dancing across his cheeks and neck and searing into the crook of Richie’s elbow where he held him. Those doe eyes turned up towards him, and he was the picture of innocence, and Richie didn’t fucking trust him as far as he could throw him. </p><p>“Or, we could sit in your truck?” Eddie suggested, blinking up at him with a mischievous smile curling his lip. </p><p>“Why?” Richie asked. It was a genuine question, but Eddie just groaned and rolled his eyes, and suddenly, Richie <em>got it</em>. </p><p>He wanted <em>alone time</em>, of an insinuated sexual nature. “Ooh. Oh, shit. Eds, you dog,” Richie said, grinning to cover how suddenly nervous he was. </p><p>Eddie glared back at him.</p><p>“I can rescind my offer at any moment, please be aware of that,” Eddie said coldly. </p><p>“No!” Richie said, too quickly, stumbling a little as he tried to speed up. Eddie giggled beneath his arm, and Richie…well, if he hadn’t been a goner the minute Eddie had been assigned his roommate in the hospital, he sure as shit was now. </p><p>Goner or not, however, he still was a little nervous. He unlocked the truck doors, climbed in beside Eddie, and tried not to think about how heavy the air was with expectation. He sat behind the steering wheel, fiddling with the flowers in his lap like that would hide his nervousness. Eddie’s voice cracking through the silence nearly sent him skittering out of his skin. </p><p>“Are those for me?” Eddie asked softly. </p><p>“Huh?” </p><p>Richie's brain felt like it had been short-circuited. Eddie had kissed him full on the mouth in front of half of Derry, and Richie <em>wanted him</em>, that wasn’t the issue at all. And it wasn’t like they could go full anal in the front seat of Richie’s truck in broad daylight or anything, and he wasn’t sure that that was ever on the table, but Eddie had planted the idea and now…just…he was nervous, okay? Even his thoughts were more of a jumble-fuck than usual, never mind his words.</p><p>“The flowers,” Eddie said, smiling a bit. </p><p>“Oh. Yeah. I was gonna throw them at your feet as you came by, but I got a little sidetracked.” </p><p>“By the kid we scarred?” Eddie asked, grinning. He took the flowers and sniffed at them before laying them gently in his lap. </p><p>“No, by the scarring him."</p><p>Eddie huffed a little laugh and started plucking at the hem of his track shorts—God…those fucking shorts…Richie suddenly felt a lot more comfortable going parking with Eddie. </p><p>“Yeah…I hope that was okay,” Eddie said, still fiddling with his shorts. When he glanced up, he looked actually unsure, as if Richie hadn’t been practically creaming his pants right on the track field sidelines. </p><p>“Fuck yeah it was,” Richie breathed. </p><p>“I just...” Eddie let out a sigh and leaned back against the headrest. When he turned his face so that his eyes met Richie’s, he looked twice as sheepish. He reached out and laced his fingers through Richie’s, thumb tracing across the ridges of his knuckles. “I meant it when I said that I want to be who you deserve,” he whispered. </p><p>Richie felt suddenly very short of breath. </p><p>“Eds,” he started, then shook his head, clenching his eyes shut and squeezing Eddie’s fingers. “I don’t ever want you to do something just because you think that <em>I</em> want it.” </p><p>“I didn’t,” Eddie said. </p><p>When Richie opened his eyes back up, Eddie was already staring at him, sincere and, just beneath that, hungry. Richie’s heart kicked. Eddie was so, so alive, and Richie loved him.</p><p>“What?” Richie croaked. The hunger in Eddie’s eyes pulsed, then softened. </p><p>“Rich, you know that I want to kiss you, like, all the time, right?” Eddie asked. He reached over with his free hand and cupped Richie’s cheek. </p><p>“You do?” Richie asked. He swallowed. Eddie smiled and nodded. “Okay,” Richie murmured. </p><p>Then, he was leaning in and sealing his lips to Eddie’s. </p><p>It was a soft, almost hesitant kiss, Richie’s tongue sweeping slowly along Eddie’s lower lip until he sighed them open. One of Richie’s hands was still clenched around the steering wheel, so he let it go and pulled Eddie closer by the hinge of his jaw, both straining across the truck bench between them. Then, Eddie seemed to get tired of the reaching, because he pulled back, moved the flowers to the dash, and slid closer until his knees were knocking Richie’s thigh and nudging the gearshift. He leaned right back in. </p><p>The time wasn’t difficult to pass that way, even if Eddie did jerk away and bitch again at how cold Richie’s hands were when they slid under his jersey, claiming flesh and rib and sinew. Eddie let him have every inch, and just before it was time for Eddie to return for warm-ups, he broke away from Richie’s hands and his mouth and sat back in his own seat, chest heaving. </p><p>“You okay?” Richie asked, taking in the sheen of sweat over Eddie’s skin, the flush, the shorts that left <em>nothing</em> to the imagination now that Richie had had a go at him. (Richie did that. He hadn’t even <em>tried</em> to cop a feel, and there Eddie sat, sucking in ragged breaths, straining against his shorts. <em>Richie</em> had done that. Baby's first boner!) </p><p>“I gotta calm down,” Eddie said. He pushed a hand up through his already-wrecked hair before letting it fall down to the door handle. </p><p>“You need your inhaler?” Richie asked, already patting his pockets. Eddie had given it to him before the meet, just in case. (They both knew that his asthma was more psychosomatic than physiologic and would probably be better treated by Xanax than an inhaler, but Richie wasn’t about to argue.) </p><p>Eddie cut him a grin and smacked his palm against Richie’s forehead, like in those cheesy v8 commercials. Richie loved him. </p><p>“No, dipshit. You want me to run laps with a boner?” he asked, and Richie’s mouth went suddenly dry. Academically, he knew that Eddie had a boner. In fact, just a mere two minutes earlier, he was marveling at the sight of it tenting up his shorts, but still. He didn’t think he’d ever heard Eddie actually <em>talk</em> about his dick, let alone in any sort of sexual context. Hearing the word <em>boner</em> come out of his mouth felt like another great gay-panic hurdle Eddie was just fucking bounding over. </p><p>“Well, I could always help you with that,” Richie offered. </p><p>He was pleased to hear that he sounded a lot more suave than he actually felt. Richie, for all his bluff and bluster, was as inexperienced as the day he was born. Probably less, considering at least <em>that</em> day, he’d actually touched a set of genitals. Which, <em>ew</em>, he so did not want to go there, especially not while Eddie was sitting there in his cab looking like every one of his wet dreams. </p><p>Anyway, the point was. Richie could talk a big talk, but if Eddie took him up on that right then, he’d have no fucking clue what he was doing beyond, like, just the intuitive shit that comes with having a penis of his own. </p><p>Eddie’s smile softened. </p><p>“Don’t want to run jelly-legged either,” he said after a beat, but his hand came up, and his thumb swept down over Richie’s lips. </p><p>“You want to come over tonight?” Richie asked suddenly. He felt the words stick in his throat, so he practically had to scrape them out and splat them into the space between them. Eddie’s face immediately went hesitant, and Richie shook his head, heat rolling through him. “Not for that. I mean, well, if you want to do <em>that</em>, then, like, we can talk about it or something, but, uh…” Richie realized, all at once and to his great mortification, that he was babbling. He snapped his mouth shut, cleared his throat, and tried again. “We can rent a movie, and I’ll cook you dinner, and we’ll kick Nicole out, and it’ll be nice.” </p><p>“Are you asking me on a date, Tozier?” Eddie cut in, grinning, and Richie blinked. </p><p>“Er…yeah.” Richie cleared his throat. “Yes. Yes, I am.” </p><p>“You’re cute,” Eddie said, then shook his head. “But I can’t tonight. I told Mom I’d spend tonight with her since we’ve got plans tomorrow night.”</p><p>“We’ve got plans tomorrow night?” Richie asked, hating himself for even having to ask the question. In his defense, Eddie looked really hot, and it was hard to focus on anything other than the fucked-up writhe of his hair. Eddie rolled his eyes. (That was hot, too.)</p><p>“The bonfire, dumbass,” Eddie said, and it might have stung a little bit more if Richie didn’t love him and if he wasn’t suddenly filled with the panic of having forgotten completely about something he was partially in charge of planning. </p><p>“Oh shit! I completely forgot about that!” Richie said. “Fuck, I was supposed to call Ben and Bev and dig chairs down from the attic for everyone.” </p><p>Eddie snorted and pushed a hand through the curls behind Richie’s ear. </p><p>“You’re a disaster, Richie Tozier,” Eddie said fondly. “Why don’t you go home and get all that done, and I’ll see you tomorrow?”</p><p>“What? No,” Richie said petulantly. “I want to see you run more in those cute little shorts.” </p><p>Eddie smacked his shoulder, and Richie snickered.</p><p>“No, really," Eddie said. "This thing’s gonna last another, like, four hours.” Richie’s eyes widened. “Yeah, I know. Seriously, it’s alright. I’ll see you tomorrow.” </p><p>“Okay…” Richie said, watching as Eddie scooped up his flowers, moved to open his door, then paused. When he turned back, he was smiling down at the rose petals. </p><p>“Thanks for coming today, Rich,” he said gently. “No one’s come to watch me before.” </p><p>“Eds, of course,” Richie said. He felt suddenly choked up. </p><p>“Richie, I,” Eddie started, and he looked so hesitant that Richie’s heart skittered. </p><p>Something lumbering and hopeful crashed through him, right at the moment that a joyous panic seized up in him. Was Eddie about to drop the <em>L-bomb</em>? Before <em>Richie</em>? Richie’d been in love with the kid since basically the first time he laid eyes on him! He wanted to say it first!</p><p>Richie’s heart kicked so hard and so painful he nearly groaned with it, eyes clenching shut. Eddie’s mouth was pressed into a tight smile when he opened them again. </p><p>Then, he leaned forward and brushed his lips across Richie’s cheek. </p><p>“I just want you to know how happy you make me,” Eddie said, and even though Richie would just about bet his soul on the fact that that wasn’t what Eddie had set out to say, it sounded sincere and soft, and Richie just stared at him for a long while. He still had a hand on the door handle and the other clutching his flowers, and his whole torso was twisted to stare Richie down with those endless brown eyes. </p><p>“You make me happy, too,” Richie whispered. And he did. God, he did. Sure, they’d had something of a rocky beginning with a few false starts, but every time he was near Eddie, all the other bullshit faded away. </p><p>It was easy to forget that he was a queer kid in Derry. Easy to forget that life for them would likely never be easy. </p><p>Easy to forget that he was living on borrowed time. </p><p>Eddie smiled. </p><p>“I’m glad.” His smile ratcheted up, big and brilliant, and before Richie could blink, he was darting forward, smacking a quick kiss on Richie, then hopping out of the truck. “I’ll see you tomorrow!” he called before shutting the door. </p><p>Richie cranked his window down. </p><p>“Knock ‘em dead, babe!” he hollered, at which Eddie just turned back and glared at him. Richie grinned. </p><p>An hour later, Richie found himself ducking around in the dust-mottled attic digging for the camping chairs he was (mostly) sure they still had somewhere. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d been camping. Actually, he wasn’t entirely convinced the Toziers had <em>ever</em> been camping and that the chairs he distinctly remembered having at some point weren’t just his dad trying to posture for the other neighborhood-barbecue shmucks. </p><p>“Dad!” Richie called, flattening out onto the edge of the still-open attic hatch and ducking his head down to see out into the hall. </p><p>“Yeah, Rich?” his father answered. His voice sounded far away as the blood rushed to his face. </p><p>“Where are those little foldy chair things? The canvas ones you see people take to sports games when there aren’t enough bleachers?” </p><p>“What?” Went called back. It sounded like he was downstairs, maybe the kitchen or something. </p><p>Richie yelled louder, “The folding chairs!”  </p><p>Even two-stories up, Richie could practically feel the frustrated grunt of his father as he abandoned whatever he was doing to come upstairs and help Richie. </p><p>Richie righted himself and swayed a bit as the blood drained back down. When it all seemed to be settled where it was supposed to be, Richie groaned. </p><p>Christ, it was hot up there. No ventilation, the top floor, and it barely being friggin’ October meant that Richie was sweating rivulets by the time he collapsed down onto the wooden stack of Nicole’s now-unassembled baby bed to wait for his father. Somehow, his fingers were <em>still</em> icy, refusing to warm after spending the better part of the chilly morning outside. He clenched his fists a few times to try and get the blood flowing while he looked around. </p><p>Richie could see in the scattered light filtering up through the attic hatch that, alongside the crib, there were various other baby-related paraphernalia lumped together around the dusty stretch of floorboard. He nudged a nearby box labeled “Nicole, 0-4 years” closer to him with his foot, and when he tugged open the flaps, there was an assortment of neatly-folded infant and toddler’s clothes, a few ragged stuffed animals he almost definitely contributed to ruining, and a photo album. He flipped open the cover, distantly curious, and found the obligatory naked-baby-Nicole shots and even a few that Richie himself were in, though he’d been only two when she was born. Mostly though, the album was empty. </p><p>The sound of his father ascending the attic ladder startled Richie, and his heart seemed to groan at the intrusion. </p><p>“Rich, what are you doing? You shouldn’t be up here by yourself,” his father said, and Richie looked up from Nicole’s baby book feeling strangely hollowed out. </p><p>“Where are the rest of Nicki’s baby pictures?” he asked, holding out the album. Went, his shoulders barely peeking through the opening, frowned. </p><p>“They should all be there,” Went said, but Richie just shook his head. </p><p>“There’s only like ten pages filled in here.” </p><p>Went looked from the empty pages up to Richie, and in that moment, he looked as hollowed-out as Richie felt. A knot of dread plunged through him. </p><p>“There aren’t any more, are there?” Richie asked quietly. Went considered him for a moment, then sighed.</p><p>“I guess not.” </p><p>Richie swallowed. </p><p>“Because of me, right?” </p><p>Went gave Richie another long, solemn look. Then, he reached out and took the baby book from his hands and shut it softly. </p><p>“Come down. I’ll get the chairs for you.” </p><p>Richie’s throat clicked as he tried to push the lump down. He felt the emptiness of his sister’s baby book pulsing through him, the knowledge that she'd been forgotten along the way because he had a useless heart. </p><p>The guilt was fucking crippling. </p><p>Went crawled into the attic, and Richie left it. When he got out into the cool air of the second floor, he sat heavily on the bottom rung of the ladder and just tried to breathe through whatever the fuck was making him feel like there was a goddamn semi-truck crushing his lungs. </p><p>He could hear his father shifting things around above him, but he didn’t feel like he had it in him to sit and listen. His head spun when he stood, but he shoved the feeling down and tried to find his sister. </p><p>He knew it was a day—and almost eighteen years—late and a dollar short, but he was hit with the overwhelming urge to apologize to her for all that he’d stolen from her. He wanted to tell her he never meant to do that, but she wasn’t anywhere he looked for her. </p><p>Eventually, he just had to choke down the nausea, help his dad load the handful of chairs into the bed of his truck, and pretend he didn’t feel like the absolute scum of the earth. </p><p>When that was squared away as effectively as high-key repression can square anything away, he called Bev and Ben, who both said they were still planning on coming out. He hadn’t been sure they would, since they were probably too old to be kicking it with a bunch of high schoolers on a Sunday evening, but like he’d told them, it’s only weird if you make it weird. </p><p>He wasn’t really worried about it though. Just thinking about the fact that, finally, all the Losers would be together was enough to throw the last handful of dirt over his grave-guilt for Nicole. </p><p>Eddie called him sometime after dinner and chattered happily about how the rest of his meet went, but otherwise, he turned in early, exhausted by the turmoil of the past few hours. </p><p>Despite feeling like a kid on Christmas when he woke up the next day, Richie found the time before the bonfire going much quicker than he was expecting. He spent the morning gathering last-minute things he thought they might need—skewers for hot dogs and marshmallows, the actual hot dogs and marshmallows themselves, insect repellant, all the important things—and soon enough, he was kissing his parents’ cheeks and ducking out. </p><p>Eddie was practically vibrating on the porch when Richie pulled up to his house. Richie watched as he opened the door to yell a goodbye at his mother, and then, he was nearly sprinting over to the truck, eyes bright, smile wide, fanny pack looking stuffed to the brim. </p><p>Richie’s heart stuttered like the fickle bitch it was, but he grinned. </p><p>“Hey,” Eddie said as he slid in. He immediately leaned over to kiss Richie, and it all felt so normal and so domestic that Richie groaned. </p><p>“Christ, it’s good to see you,” he said softly. </p><p>“I saw you literally yesterday,” Eddie said, in that particular tone of voice that told Richie he was trying so, so hard to sound put-out but was failing miserably. His neck was a delicious shade of red, and Richie leaned over to kiss him, just because. </p><p>“Too long,” Richie said against his lips. </p><p>When they separated, Richie pumped the clutch and shifted into gear, bringing his rusty, trusty truck off the curb and feeling like he was probably the luckiest bastard alive. </p><p>“Is everyone meeting us there?” Eddie asked, claiming Richie’s hand once they were coasting along happily in third gear. </p><p>“Yessir,” Richie confirmed. Eddie hummed and turned his cute little face towards the window, the sinking sun turning his already-sun-kissed skin even more golden. </p><p>By the time they got to the quarry, there was just enough daylight left to see Mike’s truck parked in the grass and Mike, Stan, and Bill standing around the hood laughing with more chairs piled up by their feet. When Richie’s headlights swept over them, they all turned and waved before moving to help unload. </p><p>The chairs Richie brought and the various food-stuffs he’d packed were made quick work of while Mike set off towards the tree-line to gather firewood. </p><p>“You didn’t think to bring wood,” Stan asked dryly, watching Mike’s shadow fade into the dusk. “To a bonfire.” </p><p>“Hey, fuck off,” Richie said, tossing a chair down to him. </p><p>He caught it easily, but not without a truly curling glare. Richie grinned. </p><p>Just about that time, another set of headlights peeled into their little corner of the quarry, and Richie could just see in the waning daylight Ben’s perfectly chiseled jaw in the passenger seat and Bev’s—frankly awesome—lime green Vega pulling into the grass. Ben waved hugely, and Bev snapped the car into park with a strangely stoic set to her lips. </p><p>Richie jumped down over the bed of his truck—landing with only a slightly jarring grunt—before making his way over to them. </p><p>“Hey, guys!” he called, accepting the warm hug from Ben without ever taking his eyes off Bev. </p><p>She held his gaze but gave nothing away. </p><p>When he pulled her into his arms, he tucked his face down into her shoulder. </p><p>“Everything okay?” he murmured and was answered with a sharp jerking of her head. </p><p>“I left Tom,” she said quietly, and just like that, the air seemed to be sucked out of his lungs. He squeezed her tighter. </p><p>“Then we’re celebrating tonight, yeah?” he whispered. </p><p>Bev pulled back, and even though her smile was a little watery, it felt very real. </p><p>“Absolutely.” </p><p>He smiled down at her and turned, keeping his arm around her shoulders and wrapping his other around Ben’s before walking them over to where Bill, Stan, and Eddie were still unloading. </p><p>“Mikey!” Richie called in the vague direction that Mike had disappeared in. “Quit being a sexy lumberjack for a few minutes and come meet Bev and Ben!” </p><p>Apparently, Mike wasn’t all that far away, because he could hear the amused chuckle before he was crunching back out into the clearing, his arms loaded with kindling. He smiled warmly as he dropped the wood and made his way over. </p><p>“Alright!” Richie said once Mike joined their loose circle. “This meeting of the Losers Club has officially begun!” </p><p>“Losers?” Ben asked, tilting his head and cocking an eyebrow at Richie. </p><p>“Absolutely,” Richie answered, grinning. “Been-jamin’, Bevvy, this is Billiam, Staniel, Michelangelo, and of course, my sweet Eddiekins.” </p><p>The group seemed to collectively roll their eyes around Richie, and soon, Bev and Ben were both ducking out from under his arms to make their own introductions where everyone used their real names and no one liked fun. </p><p>Even though he knew it was historically risky to mix business with pleasure—business being Bangor’s leading hospital staff doggedly not letting his heart rot right out of his chest—he couldn’t help but feel like the group of people standing around him was cosmically <em>right</em> in some way. </p><p>Richie shifted a bit and wrapped an arm low around Eddie’s waist as he watched six of the most important people in his life chat and laugh together. Eddie was warm and pliant against his side, smiling when Richie leaned down and pressed a kiss into his hair. </p><p>“We should set up before it gets too dark, Rich,” Stan said, cutting through the din. </p><p>Richie nodded and stooped for a chair by his feet. Soon enough, the others were following suit, snatching up chairs and supplies and making their way to the bundle of wood Mike had gathered. While Richie set to work making as respectable a bonfire as he knew how, Eddie and Stan hitched out the chairs in a circle around him, Ben and Mike set back through the darkness with a couple flashlights for still more firewood, while Bill and Bev arranged the food by whatever system they thought could keep the bugs away until the fire was going. </p><p>It was warm. Nice. </p><p>By the time Ben and Mike returned hauling enough fire-fuel to sustain them well through the night, Bev was crouched beside Richie while he cupped a hand around the flame of her lighter, both begging the spark to catch. </p><p>"Honestly," Bev grunted, shifting the flame again. "You'd think between the two of us, we'd have a harder time <em>not</em> starting fires." </p><p>"I resent that," Richie said. "I mean, just look at my boyfriend! I'm a fucking flame magnet!" </p><p>The small fire sizzled out against Bev's thumb, and she hissed. He took the lighter from her, but apparently, it's a lot harder to strike up a flame than all those movies made it look. Stan snickered over Richie's shoulder at the third failed attempt.</p><p>"It's Stanley's fault for standing so close," Richie groaned. "He's practically the human-embodiment of a wet blanket." </p><p>"Fuck you," Stan said. He sounded entirely unfazed, however, and Bev took her lighter back, just to spite him, Richie was sure. </p><p>“H-here,” Bill said, holding out a scrap of paper towel to defend his boyfriend's honor. </p><p>Richie raised his eyebrows at it, but Bill just huffed and squatted on his other side. He jammed the paper towel into a crevice of the pile and motioned for Bev to move the flame against it. </p><p>The paper went up quickly, the rest of the wood soon following. </p><p>“There’s my sexy Boy Scout,” Stan said, grinning. </p><p>Even in the crinkling firelight, Richie didn’t miss the flush that crept up Bill’s cheeks. </p><p>“It’s n-n-nothing,” he stammered, straightening and returning to Stan’s side. </p><p>“Well, it’s a fire,” Eddie said appreciatively. He stepped into Richie and wrapped an arm around his waist.</p><p>“Hear, hear,” Richie said, grinning down at him. </p><p>After that, the Losers settled into the chairs around the fire, laughing and fighting over the limited number of skewers. Eddie stood, victorious with a yellow-handled poker, just out of Richie’s reach, a hot dog roasting slowly as he spun it. </p><p>Richie was warm all over, the voices of his friends lifting through the air around him and the fire crackling by his heels as he leaned back and watched the stars. It was a clear night, only the rising smoke and licking flames dampening the pinpricks above. Richie dipped in and out of the conversations happening around him. </p><p>“Wait, you h-h-had to sew the tip of his dick back?” Bill asked Ben, the wonder wide, even in his voice. </p><p>“Where were you for Stan’s bar mitzvah?” Eddie teased, and Richie grinned lazily up at the stars.</p><p>“Really? So, does your family ever sell the wool for clothes and things?” Bev asked, her voice pitched towards Mike and seeming much lighter than she had when she’d arrived. </p><p>“Are you interested in handmade clothes?” Stan asked her. </p><p>Richie sunk lower in his chair, warm and content, and let his eyes slip closed. </p><p>“Rich, you want me to make you a hot dog?” Eddie asked after a bit, stepping closer and pushing a hand through Richie’s hair. Richie shook his head, eyes still closed, and grabbed Eddie’s wrist. </p><p>“Just sit with me, okay?” he asked, tugging him in until he collapsed on Richie’s lap with a huff. Despite his huffiness, however, he wasted no time wrapping Richie’s arms tighter around his ribs and settling back. </p><p>“This was a good idea,” he said quietly, threading the fingers of his un-hot-dog-encumbered hand through Richie’s. </p><p>“’S nice,” Richie said, tucking his chin over Eddie’s shoulder. “Having everyone here.”</p><p>Eddie hummed, tearing into his food. </p><p>They sat quietly, just listening as Stan entered into a surprisingly lively discussion with Ben on the merits of sweet gum trees for eco-friendly construction. </p><p>“You’ve got bony thighs,” Eddie grumbled around the last of his hot dog, wriggling. </p><p>“You’ve got mustard on your face,” Richie answered. </p><p>“Nuh-uh!” He whipped around, glaring, cheeks lit golden by the fire behind him. </p><p>“Yeah huh, it’s right here,” Richie said. He pointed, but before Eddie could scrub it away, Richie darted forward. “I’ll get it,” he breathed, pressing their lips together. </p><p>He’d only meant for it to be a quick, funny peck, but then Eddie let out a soft, shaky exhale against Richie’s mouth, and he didn’t want to pull away, hot-dog-breath and all. He tightened his arms around Eddie, fire-warm and hungry. It wasn’t hard to lose himself in it. </p><p>“Boooo,” Stanley jeered at them. Richie didn’t take his lips off Eddie to flip him the bird. </p><p>A marshmallow hit the rim of his glasses. </p><p>“Fuck off,” Eddie bit, pulling away just the barest amount to glare at their on-lookers. Mike had an innocuous marshmallow bag in his lap, Ben and Bev were both raising amused eyebrows, Stan was looking his signature bitchy-pleased, and Bill was intent on getting as much chocolate onto his graham cracker as possible. </p><p>“They’re gross, aren’t they?” Bev said, winking.</p><p>“Oh, you should have seen them when they were still in the will-they-won’t-they phase,” Mike said, grinning. “Richie permanently looked like someone had stolen his favorite teddy bear.” </p><p>“He <em>is</em> my favorite teddy bear,” Richie crooned, nuzzling against Eddie and pretending the heat of his face was from the fire and not their teasing. His heart started beating hard in its cage.</p><p>“Shut up,” Eddie snapped at him, only to undermine himself completely by wriggling closer. </p><p>“What about when Richie s-s-spent two hours picking out Eddie’s b-b-boutonierre for the dance?”</p><p>“What about Richie sleeping with that purple mongoose Eddie won for him?” </p><p>“What about when Richie was high on his pain meds and tried to convince me he’d seen the beginning of time in Eddie’s eyes?”</p><p>“What about Richie voluntarily going to <em>high school</em> just to see Eddie?”</p><p>“Jesus,” Richie interrupted with a yelp, tucking down into the collar of Eddie’s jacket. “Why are we just picking on <em>me</em> here? The beauty of this relationship is that we’re <em>both</em> dumb assholes!”</p><p>“Hey!” Eddie spluttered indignantly, but Richie just grinned, kissed his shoulder. </p><p>“I’m just saying, we’ve <em>both</em> done embarrassing shit. Why aren’t we talking about that time Eds blew chunks all over my hospital room so I blew chunks all over him?” </p><p>“Richie!” Eddie gasped, his face scandalized as he jerked away to look over his shoulder at him. Richie grinned wider. “You swore you’d never bring it up!”</p><p>“I did no such thing!” The whole world suddenly narrowed down to Eddie’s bright eyes, shimmering in the firelight. Richie loved him, and he wanted to tease him mercilessly. “Besides, you can’t ban that story. Think of our future children, Eds. You can’t deprive them the story of the moment you fell in love with me!” </p><p>Richie pulled Eddie closer against his chest, nuzzling obnoxiously at his shoulder. </p><p>“That was <em>not</em> the moment I fell in love with you, fucking believe me, Trashmouth,” Eddie answered with a scoff, quick as a whip, his fingers threading through Richie’s again and settling back.</p><p>Then, he stiffened in Richie’s lap, Richie’s ears ringing. His heart slammed once, twice, three times. The words registered.</p><p>Holy shit, Eddie had just admitted to being in love with him! </p><p>Their friends were very quiet around them, not that Richie was paying them any attention literally at all. </p><p>Eddie was rigid in his lap, and he’d just admitted to loving Richie.</p><p>“When was it?” Richie croaked, barely audible over the ringing in his ears or the overwhelming pounding of his heart. He wished Eddie was facing him. He wished he could <em>see</em> him. Richie heard the click of Eddie’s swallow. “Eds,” he pushed gently. </p><p>He needed to hear it. Needed it more than he’d ever needed anything. His heart was doing barrel rolls in his chest. </p><p>Then, Eddie turned his head the slightest bit, and Richie caught sight of the most incredible blush he’d ever seen, dancing across Eddie’s cheeks, over his nose, down through his ears. </p><p>“You jumped at the quarry for me,” Eddie whispered softly. Richie’s heart slammed again, harder, more insistent at the barely-there confirmation. Richie shot a warning at it to kindly shut the fuck up. </p><p>“I did,” he answered carefully. He felt Eddie’s nervous breaths fanning across his face. He felt alive, not just mooching off Eddie’s life but alive in his own right, blood coursing through him, skin electric with anticipation, every swallow of air singing, <em>he loves me, he loves me, how terrifying.</em></p><p>“You’d barely been out of surgery for a month,” Eddie murmured. “And I know you’re afraid of heights…and then you climbed the tree... That was the moment.” Eddie’s eyes flicked down to meet Richie’s as he finished. He looked scared, but his grip was sure around Richie’s fingers, and Richie was holding him like he never wanted to let him go. (That assumption would not be incorrect.) </p><p>Richie swallowed, taking a single shaking breath to revel in the absolutely impossible idea that Eddie Kaspbrak actually loved him, could even begin to feel the same way that Richie felt about him, like the world around them was trembling and incense-thick and raw. Eddie stared at him, scared, but somehow so fucking sure. It was dizzying. </p><p>“This is the moment,” Richie breathed. </p><p>One side of Eddie’s mouth hitched up, and he went softer in Richie’s arms. </p><p>“This the moment you fell in love with me?” he asked, unwinding his fingers from Richie’s and turning so that he could wrap an arm around Richie’s shoulders. He hauled him in and pressed their foreheads together. Richie shook his head and hugged Eddie as close as he could. </p><p>“This is the moment I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you,” Richie whispered. </p><p>He tipped his chin forward, and when Eddie’s lips met his, they were soft, steady, and needy. When Richie pulled away, his heart jack-rabbiting around, he grinned. “I’ve been in love with you since you called my Voices trash.” </p><p>Eddie threw his head back and laughed, his arm still a vise around Richie’s shoulders. </p><p>“That was ten minutes into our first conversation, you asshole.” But Eddie was smiling, eyes so soft, the dark wave of his hair catching golden in the firelight. He wanted to be with Eddie forever. </p><p>The want struck him so desperately, so insistently, that knowing it wouldn’t happen made him feel like his chest was being carved open all over again. </p><p>He wouldn’t get forever. He’d be lucky to get the next ten years. </p><p>Eddie’s smile quivered the smallest amount, like he was reading Richie’s mind. </p><p>Richie was in love, wanted forever, and they didn’t have it. Eddie brought a soft hand up to Richie’s face, and he tried to smile back, really, he did. He didn’t want to think about the day he couldn’t love Eddie anymore, and he sure as shit didn’t want Eddie to worry about it. It was too fucking painful.</p><p>“What can I say, Eds?” Richie mumbled, leaning into the hand Eddie cupped against his cheek, sinking into the thumb he stroked there. “I’m a man who knows what he wants.” </p><p>Eddie chewed his lip, still smiling but with something that looked so fucking broken in his eyes that it made Richie hate himself. He’d never hated his dumb heart more than he did in that moment. It was supposed to be a happy moment, <em>Eddie loved him</em>, and all he could think was how unjust it was that it would all be ripped away. </p><p>Eddie leaned forward that last, barest of an inch and brushed his lips across Richie’s. </p><p>“I love you, Rich,” he said, whispered it into Richie’s mouth, and Richie tried to shove down the ache and let himself have the words, let himself hold Eddie as tightly as he possibly could. Live in the moment, or whatever other bullshit he always had to tell himself just to want to get up in the fucking mornings. </p><p>They sat there by the fire with their friends for a long time, Eddie leaning back against Richie’s chest, fingers lazily tracing patterns into the back of his hand, Richie holding him close, breathing in as much of him as he could. </p><p>If they’d be lucky to get the next ten years, then he had a whole lot of loving Eddie to cram in before it was over.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I hope things are going well for you all. I seriously love every one of you so much. You guys keep me going&lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Richie’s nearly killed by Eddie’s dick.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Please enjoy this very hastily edited chapter! </p><p>tws: brief mention of homophobia, less vague but still non-explicit sex</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div>
  <p>
  
    <em>October ‘93</em>
 
</p>
</div><p>They stayed at the quarry until the pile of firewood scavenged up by Mike and Ben was burnt into the night sky. Eddie stayed in Richie’s lap, his stomach turning over and over. </p><p>He was happy, undoubtedly. He’d finally told Richie how he felt, and Richie <em>loved</em> him back. It was sunshine and rainbows and all that crap.</p><p>He was happy. But fuck, he was sad, too. He couldn’t shake the feeling that when Richie had said those three little words, it was barely audible over the staccato of a ticking clock. There wasn’t enough time. </p><p>As the night wound down, Ben yawning as he gathered trash, Bill and Stan talking softly into the dark as they loaded Richie’s truck, Richie and Bev giggling over who-the-hell-knows, Eddie stepping over to help Mike kick dirt onto the embers of their bonfire, the water-banks around them came alive with the songs of crickets and frogs and movement. Eddie couldn’t really appreciate it. </p><p>Richie had been right. It was nice to have everyone together like this. He hadn’t even known that this group of people <em>was</em> everyone, but Eddie knew now, they were. These were the people that loved Richie, the people that loved Eddie, loved each other, and it was nice. And Eddie knew he should be happier. </p><p>If Richie noticed as he drove them home, he didn’t mention it. He himself was quiet, too, barely humming along to the radio even as he held tight to Eddie’s hand. They kissed in the driveway, and it was short and soft and tender, like the moment was a newborn they were both afraid to break. </p><p>“Love you, Eds,” Richie murmured just as Eddie started to pull away. </p><p>It gave him pause, still so fresh in the mix with all the other words they said to each other. He thought, very slowly, the way you think something that no part of you wants to be thinking, that there was some validity to Richie insisting he consider the implications of them being together while the ghost of Richie’s heart hung over them. The thought stole the air from him as it clawed its way out of the dark corners of his brain. </p><p>He blinked, and Richie was smiling at him, scared, vulnerable, and Eddie knew without a shadow of a doubt that he loved Richie. That it was too late for him to make any decision other than the one he’d already made. He was staying with Richie, no matter what, but fuck, it was gonna hurt. </p><p>“I love you,” Eddie whispered. Then, he kissed him again and left him there in the truck, in the dark, alone. </p><p>It took him a long time to fall asleep that night, his thoughts rampant with the bittersweet feeling of loving Richie, wondering how the fuck he’s supposed to keep him safe, and drowning in the guilt that comes with knowing he doesn’t really have a right to be torn up over Richie’s heart when it’s <em>Richie</em> who’s losing so much. </p><p>The only way he could relax was to tell himself over and over that Richie was healthy, even if that wouldn’t last. There was no point in fixating on what may or may not happen in the future. He wouldn’t become his mother. So, he clung to that promise, and sleep took him. </p><p>The next morning, it felt almost true. Richie was outside right on time, and whatever somber cloud had been smothering them both the night before seemed to have been flung off by the high-tempo alt-rock that bounced through the truck speakers and the thermos of ridiculously sweet coffee that Richie passed towards him, all with a gummy grin. Richie himself seemed to have been on his third or maybe fourth cup of coffee, and the sight of him jittering in the driver’s seat, hammed up for Eddie’s entertainment, made him laugh all the way to school. </p><p>Eddie spent an airy, almost weightless couple of weeks in that place, laughing with Richie, keeping his head down during classes, sprinting as hard as he could at his meets. Even the kids who had snarled at him and Richie holding hands like they were the scum of the earth two weeks earlier seemed to think that they were old news now. Sure, there were still the nasty looks in the hallways and Eddie didn’t really want to walk anywhere alone, but for the most part, it felt like Eddie and his friends at Derry High were living in a happy, breezy bubble. </p><p>Richie went to each of his track meets, even though they were mostly after-school now, and even though Eddie knew it was boring for him, despite his protests otherwise. The nights were getting colder, and each time Eddie ran to him after a race, Richie’s hands were ice on his over-heated skin. He told himself he wasn’t being his mother by insisting that Richie leave after the first event, just like the first meet he’d gone to. Richie always seemed slightly grateful, even though he always pouted until Eddie kissed him goodbye, long and slow, in his truck. </p><p>A couple weeks after the bonfire, Eddie had his first real break in the track season. Classes were in full-swing, midterms were hanging harsh over everyone’s heads, and the coaches had unanimously decided that October practices would last only until sun-down, even as the days got shorter. </p><p>At the end of one such sun-down practice, as Eddie made his way to the payphone across the street from school to call his mom for a ride, he caught sight of Richie leaning against his truck, grinning. </p><p>“Hey!” Eddie called, jogging over, despite the jelloed consistency of his leg muscles. He matched Richie’s grin tooth-for-tooth. “What are you doing here? I thought you had to do some grocery shopping for your mom.” </p><p>Normally, Richie waited around on the short practice days—with a no-arguments-brooked tone of voice, much to Eddie’s chagrin—to drive him home, but that day during their P.E. session, which Eddie still sat out of thanks to his mom’s note and in solidarity to Richie, Richie had said he wouldn’t make it back in time to pick Eddie up. </p><p>Richie’s grin turned some soupy mix of bashful and mischievous. It made Eddie’s insides take flight. </p><p>“I may have told a little white lie,” he said, hands shoved deep in his pockets to stave off the October chill that was lost entirely on Eddie. </p><p>Still, Eddie narrowed his eyes.</p><p>“You’re being weird. Why are you being weird?” </p><p>“You wanna go on that date now?” Richie asked, the words tumbling out of him all at once, like there was some part of him that really thought Eddie might say <em>no</em>. </p><p>“Really?” Eddie said, excitement bubbling up in him. He and Richie had been <em>boyfriends</em> for a few weeks now, and so far, the only real date they had had had turned into fight at the top of a Ferris wheel. “I need to shower and change, but that sounds really great, Richie.” </p><p>Richie beamed at him, then turned to pull open Eddie’s door with a deep bow and a flourish.</p><p>“Then to your chambers we shall presently away, my good sir,” he said, in his still-bad impression of a British guy. </p><p>“Dork,” Eddie teased, dipping to kiss the high flush on Richie’s cheek before climbing in. The cab was warm, almost overly warm, like Richie had been riding with the heat on full-blast, and Eddie, having been running pretty much nonstop for the past two hours, cracked the window and grinned at Richie as he climbed in.  </p><p>Sonia was sitting in front of the TV dabbing polish into the chipped corners of her nails when they walked in. She glanced up at them. </p><p>“Hi, Mrs. K.,” Richie said, smiling, and even though Eddie could feel the nerves rolling off him, he loved him for trying. He also loved him enough to grab his wrist and tug him towards the stairs almost immediately. </p><p>“Door <em>open</em>, Edward,” his mother called sternly. </p><p>“<em>Mom</em>,” Eddie groaned, just loud enough to cover Richie’s snicker. </p><p>Things had been alright with his mom. It still kind of felt like he was walking on eggshells anytime he brought Richie up, like he was waiting for her to revoke her tentative okay-ness with the whole thing, but even though her lip almost always curled down, she never out-right told him she was disgusted by their relationship. He was grateful for that, even though he knew. </p><p>“I think your mom thinks I’m gonna defile you,” Richie whispered as they hit the landing in the stairs.</p><p>“Aren’t you?” Eddie shot back, grinning and nearly cracking up at the very audible, very <em>adorable</em> gulp Richie pushed down. </p><p>“Shit, Eds,” he breathed. “Warn a guy, huh?” </p><p>Eddie just snickered and tugged Richie into his room. He did, however, leave the door open a smidge as he sat Richie on the bed and turned to dig through his dresser for date clothes. He was just about to open his mouth and ask Richie if his dress pants would be too formal when Richie spoke up again. </p><p>“Do you want me to?” he asked. </p><p>“Want you to what?” Eddie glanced back at Richie, sprawled on his bed and staring up at the ceiling, took one look at his normal haywire attire and decided that dress pants would definitely be too formal. Jeans it was. </p><p>“Defile you,” Richie said, timid enough to make Eddie’s heart go skittering around behind his sternum. </p><p>“Excuse me,” he said, whipping around to stare at Richie. There was a flush creeping up towards his curls, rich and beautiful. Richie glanced at him and swallowed before pushing his eyes back up towards the ceiling. </p><p>“I mean, you know…is that something you would want? Someday?” </p><p>“To be <em>defiled</em>?” Eddie’s hands were clamped around a pair of jeans. He had to consciously work to pull one away and push the drawer shut behind him. </p><p>“Not, you know, <em>defile</em>, but yeah. The sex.” Richie glanced at him again, his eyes wide and <em>scared</em>, if Eddie didn’t know better. It took him a minute to wrap his brain around the question and around Richie’s nervousness, and apparently, it was too long of a minute, because before Eddie could answer, Richie was talking again, rambly and fast and a little too loud for Eddie’s mother to be right downstairs with the door obnoxiously open. </p><p>“I want to,” Richie said, heaving in a breath. “Someday, I mean. Sex with you. Obviously, there’s no pressure, no rush, or well, I mean, I guess you know the situation. It’s not like we’ve got a <em>lot</em> of time, but that’s fine. My family’s barely catholic, but they’d still probably be glad for me to die a virgin if I’m not married, so it’s no big deal or anything, but yeah, I’d like to get a little spaghetti sauce on my noodle—” </p><p>“Richie! Shut <em>up</em>,” Eddie hissed, throwing the jeans at him so that they unfurled across his face. The breath left him in a squeak, and Eddie was trying so hard not to laugh. </p><p>He moved back to the door and poked his head out. From the top of the stairs, Eddie could still see the TV flickering down below and just barely make out the murmur of bad soap operas running on-screen. There was no movement, no mad-bull-dash up the stairs, so Eddie figured his mother hadn’t heard Richie’s rambling about their not-yet-existent sex life. He pushed the door just a bit closer to closed and turned back to Richie. He was still laying on the bed, no move to unwrap the jeans from his face, and fuck, Eddie loved him. </p><p>When Richie felt the bed dip beside him as Eddie sat, he lifted one pants leg and blinked at him. </p><p>“Sorry,” he squeaked. Eddie grinned and plucked the jeans off. </p><p>“You’re a disaster, Richard,” he said, and Richie nodded.</p><p>“I know. Sorry.” </p><p>“I do,” Eddie said, dropping his eyes to the jeans in his hands, his face absolutely flaming. “Want to, I mean.” </p><p>“You do?” </p><p>“Of course, I do, Rich. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted.” </p><p>Richie blinked up at him for a long moment, owlish, then his lip wobbled. </p><p>“No fair,” he whined. “Don’t say sweet things. It makes me cry.” </p><p>“Get used to it, dickhead,” Eddie said, reaching out and shoving at his chest. </p><p>“Ah, there he is,” Richie said, smiling up at him with still-shining eyes. </p><p>Eddie couldn’t help it. He leaned down and kissed him. </p><p>“I’ve gotta shower,” he murmured against Richie’s lips after a beat. </p><p>“No,” Richie mumbled, shaking his head and winding his fingers through Eddie’s hair. </p><p>“I’m not having sex with you right <em>now</em>, idiot,” Eddie said, laughing. </p><p>“Don’t care. Wanna kiss your dumb face.” </p><p>“Well, I wanna go on our dumb date,” Eddie said, but he didn’t pull away. Richie, however, did, after a few swipes of his tongue along the underside of Eddie’s. </p><p>“Ugh,” he groaned. “Fine, go shower before I try to defile you right now.” He grinned, and Eddie kissed him again, quick and sweet, because he could. </p><p>“Okay,” he said and pushed himself up, snatching up the rest of his clothes and walking for the door. “Don’t be gross in my room.” </p><p>“Aw, but Eds! Where else am I supposed to be gross?” </p><p>“Gross boys wait in the car.” </p><p>“Kinky.”</p><p>“I hate you.” </p><p>“You wish.” </p><p>Eddie rolled his eyes but smiled through his whole shower routine. </p><p>When he finished and got back to his room, Richie was still sprawled on the bed, though he’d pulled the Walkman off Eddie’s side-table and was kicking his feet over the end of the mattress in time to the music blasting from the headphones, eyes closed. Eddie snorted. </p><p>“Hey!” Eddie called, reaching out and tugging hard on Richie’s ankle. Richie, apparently <em>very</em> wrapped up in the Duran Duran tape Eddie’d left in there, jerked so hard he knocked his glasses askew. He propped himself up on his elbows, wide-eyed. </p><p>“Rude!” he said, pulling the headphone off and righting his glasses. </p><p>“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie said, grinning and shrugging him off. “Am I going to be underdressed if I wear jeans?” </p><p>“Babe, you see what I’m wearing, right?” Richie waved a hand down his ensemble, which was, as previously mentioned, very <em>Richie</em>. Holey black jeans, mis-matched socks under scribbled-on sneakers, and a mostly-red color-block sweater that looked just about one wash away from becoming a scrub-cloth. </p><p>“Yeah, alright,” Eddie said with a roll of his eyes. Still, he was glad he was wearing a button-down. </p><p>“You look great, Eds,” Richie said after a beat, and when Eddie looked back at him, he was still propped up on his elbows, Walkman on his stomach, headphones around his neck, smiling that soft, sincere smile. </p><p>“Thanks,” Eddie said. He knew how red his face was, but he couldn’t really bring himself to be bashful. </p><p>After Eddie tugged his shoes on, he waved at Richie. </p><p>“Alright. Come on, big boy. Let’s get this show on the road,” he said, which earned him a blinding grin from Richie and the pleasure of watching him toss his Walkman onto the comforter and spring up out of bed. </p><p>Then, he swayed on his feet, hand going to his head.</p><p>“Whoa,” he groaned. “Head rush.” </p><p>Eddie was at his side in an instant, steadying him and frowning. </p><p>“You get up too fast?” he asked, holding tight to Richie’s arm.</p><p>“Yeah, sorry. I guess when I laid down, I didn’t expect you to spend twenty minutes blow-drying your hair,” he said, grinning. </p><p>Eddie scoffed and shoved him away. </p><p>“I may have spent twenty minutes doing it, but look at the result, dickhead.”</p><p>“Oh, I’m looking.” His grin turned devilish, and Eddie had about half a second for the realization to dawn before Richie was springing forward and mussing his hair to hell and back. </p><p>“Hey! Fuck you! Now you’re gonna have to wait even longer for me to get it fixed right!” </p><p>“Darling, you look just stunning,” Richie said, in a Voice Eddie had come to affectionately know as the wealthy-sex-offender. </p><p>“Alright, alright. Get off me,” Eddie said, shoving him away—but still clinging to one wrist because he’s weak, okay—and running a hand through his hair. He really didn’t want to take the time to repeat his styling routine, but still. He had <em>some</em> pride in his appearance. He raked it back into place as much as possible without a mirror and huffed in faux-annoyance at Richie. </p><p>“Ready?” he asked, and Richie gave him that shit-eating grin again. </p><p>“Ready, Eddie.” </p><p>“We’ve fucking talked about this. No rhyming with my name!” </p><p>Richie just threw his head back and laughed, moving pliantly when Eddie tugged him towards the door. </p><p>Ten minutes later, after a brief goodbye with his mother—<em>home by eleven, Eddie-bear, I mean it</em>—they were driving along with tangled fingers and bickering at top-volume over whether or not the sequel to <em>Grease</em> had been worth the two-dollar Blockbuster rental fee last week. </p><p>“What do you <em>mean</em> you think Stephanie is more sympathetic than Sandy?!” Eddie howled, the hand that wasn’t tangled in Richie’s slicing emphatically through the air. </p><p>“Sandy literally had to change everything about her just for Danny to be willing to go out in public with her!” </p><p>“Yeah but that was the whole thing! You can’t compare Stephanie and Sandy like that because they did the whole gender-switch on who the proper character was. You’d have to compare Sandy and Michael for you to use that argument!” </p><p>“Okay, so Sandy and Michael,” Eddie prompted, practically vibrating in his seat, hands a flurry of motion. </p><p>“No, but I wanna talk about Michelle Pfeiffer,” Richie said, grinning mischievously at Eddie before turning back to the road.</p><p>“Oh my God, get out,” Eddie groaned. </p><p>“Okay, but she was pretty cute in that scene where she was wearing a Christmas tree, right?” </p><p>“You’re the worst. You know that whole auditorium was looking at her like she was fucking stupid for changing the song in the middle of their planned routine, musical rules or not.” Eddie paused, mid-rant, his gaze sticking on the roadside. He’d been so wrapped up in the discussion that he’d missed altogether them leaving Derry behind. “Hey, where are we going?” </p><p>“It’s a surprise, Eddie, my love.” </p><p>“Are you taking me somewhere to murder me?” </p><p>“No, I usually save that for date number three,” Richie answered, rolling his eyes with a grin.</p><p>“Oh good. At least you’re a gentleman about it.” </p><p>Richie snorted out a laugh and squeezed Eddie’s hand. </p><p>“We’re close. Another five minutes or so.” </p><p>“Where are we going?”</p><p>“Well…” Richie turned to him with a look of pure innocence, to which the only appropriate response, Eddie felt, was immediate suspicion. </p><p>“Richie,” Eddie warned, reaching out and wrapping his free hand around Richie’s wrist, right above their entwined hands. </p><p>“What!”</p><p>“No breaking and entering, right? That’s like date rule number one!”</p><p>“Come on, Eds. Where’s your sense of adventure?”</p><p>“Must have left it at home with all the other shit that would get me arrested,” Eddie quipped, holding Richie’s hand tight with both hands. </p><p>“No, baby, you’re too cute for jail.”</p><p>“Fuck you.”</p><p>“Don’t worry. There’s no breaking and entering tonight.” Richie blinked over at Eddie, then grinned again. “Just entering.” </p><p>“Trespassing is illegal, too!” </p><p>“We’ll be fine. I promise,” Richie said. He sounded just sincere enough, just excited enough, that Eddie had no choice but to sigh and sit back. Plus, if he was being totally honest with himself, he always felt brave around Richie. If the cops showed up wherever they were going to drag them to jail, he’d run. He’d run anywhere with Richie. </p><p>Once Eddie realized where they were, however, he realized that running from the law wasn’t likely to be in the night’s agenda. </p><p>“We’re going to the drive-in?” he asked, but Richie just grinned. </p><p>“Not exactly.” </p><p>He hit his blinker and turned off the road that led to the drive-in before extracting his hand from Eddie’s and shifting gears at the foot of a large hill. They climbed steadily upwards for a few minutes before the road—though dirt path was probably a better descriptor—ended abruptly at a fence and chained-off gate. </p><p>“Romantic,” Eddie said dryly, staring at the rusted metal and feeling his insides take flight, regardless of what his mouth had said. Richie turned to him with a grin and killed the engine.</p><p>“You feeling up for a bit of a hike?” he asked, and just like that, suddenly, going to jail was back on the menu. Eddie groaned but pushed open his door. </p><p>“I’d like to reiterate that trespassing is illegal,” Eddie called back over his shoulder as he tucked his hands into the pockets of the sweatshirt he’d snagged from the cab of Richie’s truck. (It was his now.) When he turned to fully appreciate the smirk he knew would be dripping from Richie’s lips, however, he was confronted, instead, by the sight of Richie hoisting a wad of blankets higher over his shoulder with a picnic basket and a small radio tucked into the crooks of his elbows. </p><p>“Rich?” he asked, a smile tugging at his lips. </p><p>“It’s not too far. Come on,” Richie said, dipping to press a kiss against Eddie’s cheek as he moved past. </p><p>Richie was so tall that he barely had to climb to clear the gate, but he did it about as gracefully as he did everything else, so there were a few good minutes of Eddie just clinging to Richie’s ankle, elbow, shirt-hem,<em> anything</em>, in an effort to keep him from tumbling over the other side. By the time he was successfully upright, Eddie was laughing so hard he could hardly get himself over. (But you’d better believe he did it in one smooth motion when he did it.) </p><p>“God, you’re adorable,” Richie laughed once they were on the same side of the fence again. He wrapped an arm low around Eddie’s waist.</p><p>The radio went knocking into his kidneys, but Richie was leaning down and sealing their mouths together, so it didn’t matter all that much. “I love your laugh. I love you,” he said against Eddie’s lips. </p><p>“Shut up, you big sap,” Eddie murmured, holding Richie closer. </p><p>Eventually though, they separated, and Eddie took the radio from Richie so that he could twine their fingers together for the remainder of their hike. To call it a “hike”, however, would be being generous. Mostly, it was just them stepping over fallen branches at a slight incline, holding hands and chattering back and forth in the dark of the tree-cover. </p><p>After a few minutes, the trees thinned, then stopped all together, and they broke into a small clearing at the very top of the hill. In the distance to the left, the Kenduskeag carved through the Maine countryside. To the right, the glimmering lights of Derry danced up towards them, and right in the center, a massive screen was dancing with the drive-in movie’s projection, though they stood high and back from the paid lot. Eddie knew from one look at Jeff Goldblum in that leather jacket that it was <em>Jurassic Park</em>. He’d seen it three times at the Aladdin with Bill and Stan for Goldblum alone. (And he’d really thought they were all <em>straight</em>.) </p><p>“Aw, shit, Eds. We missed the beginning,” Richie said, facing out towards the rows of parked cars that felt a million miles away. When he turned towards Eddie, he really did look disappointed, and somehow, it felt meaner to admit he’d already seen the film Richie was so excited to share with him than it was to say it was okay they’d missed the beginning.  </p><p>“That’s okay,” Eddie said, smiling up at him. He traded the blankets off Richie’s shoulder for the radio in his hand and shook one out. As soon as it was spread over the grass, Richie plopped down onto it and began fiddling with the radio. Static burst out, and Eddie grinned as he settled down beside him. </p><p>Not that he’d ever admit it, but Eddie thought Richie was twice as cute as Jeff Goldblum, especially as his tongue poked out between his lips while he scanned the radio stations for the movie’s accompanying sound. Deft fingers turned the dial slowly, but aside from a few bursts of actual radio spreading into the darkness around them, it only spat out static. </p><p>Richie looked up at Eddie with wide, panicked eyes. He’d turned the dial from beginning to end. </p><p>“Maybe it’s FM?” Eddie suggested. </p><p>Richie nodded and flicked a switch before starting his slow dialing in the opposite direction. They scanned every station, but there was nothing but your regularly-scheduled programming. Then, Richie flicked it back to AM and did it once more. Somewhere between the recounting of a ten-year-old baseball game and a very convincing pitch for Pacific time-shares, there was the spotty squeal of a braying brachiosaurus overlaying Jurassic Park’s theme song. </p><p>Eddie glanced up at the screen, and sure enough, Doctor Grant was marveling at how the dinosaurs moved in herds as the long-neck threw its head back, mouth open. </p><p>“I think this is it,” Richie said proudly. He turned the volume up, but when he pulled his hands away, the sound cut out entirely, leaving static blaring out into the clearing. </p><p>“Rich,” Eddie said, laying a hand on his shoulder, but Richie was already reaching for the radio again.</p><p>“No, no, it’s fine! I can hold it just like this,” he said, scrabbling to find the position he’d been in when the sound had popped through. </p><p>“Richie,” Eddie groaned, letting his head fall over his knuckles, still on Richie’s shoulder. </p><p>“Come on, Eds. I want you to be able to enjoy the movie,” Richie said, turning his head towards Eddie and pouting. Eddie leaned forward and kissed him. </p><p>“I think I’d enjoy it more if you had your hands free,” he murmured, grinning against Richie’s lips, savoring in the thick swallow Richie pushed down. </p><p>“Is that so?” Richie mumbled. He flicked the radio off, then his hands were, blessedly, free. They found homes on Eddie’s skin almost immediately, and Eddie, for as much as he’d asked for them, yelped. </p><p>“Jesus, your hands are so cold lately!” Eddie said, reeling away and gathering them in his own. He breathed a plume of hot air onto Richie’s fingers, then rubbed them between his palms. </p><p>Richie’s smile went soft before breaking. </p><p>“I’m really sorry, babe,” he said. </p><p>“What? It’s fine. They’re warming up,” Eddie said, but Richie shook his head and curled his fingers around Eddie’s. </p><p>“No, I mean about tonight. I really thought the radio signal would reach up here.” Richie frowned when Eddie frowned. “We can drive down, if you want. I’ll buy us tickets.” </p><p>Eddie shook his head.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he said again. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Eddie’s. “I really wanted our date to be perfect.” </p><p>“Babe,” Eddie breathed, nudging Richie with his forehead until he pulled away enough to look at him. “Not to get grossly sentimental, but this <em>is</em> perfect.” Richie looked like he wanted to dispute, so Eddie leaned forward and kissed him gently. “Every minute with you is perfect,” he murmured into Richie’s seeking lips. </p><p>“God, and you called <em>me</em> a sap,” Richie said, grinning. </p><p>“Oh, bite me,” Eddie said, pulling away and shoving at Richie’s collarbone when he snapped his teeth at him, laughing. </p><p>“Do you want dinner, at least? I’m pretty sure I didn’t mess that up,” Richie said after they’d settled down a bit. The movie flickered on in the distance, offering just enough light for Richie to tug the picnic basket towards him and flip it open. </p><p>He pulled out two aluminum-wrapped plates, passed one to Eddie, still warm to the touch, and set the other down on the blanket in front of himself. Then, he pulled out a couple sodas and, finally, an entire fucking pie. </p><p>“Holy shit, Richie, you brought an <em>entire fucking pie</em>?” Eddie breathed, torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to bitch about Richie’s health. Richie just grinned. </p><p>“I’m a growing boy, Eds,” he said, ripping the tinfoil off his plate and wiggling his eyebrows. “Or should I say <em>spagh</em>-eds.” </p><p>Eddie turned his gaze down to the plate Richie was waggling proudly. There were shoots of asparagus, a slab of garlic bread, and, of fucking course, spaghetti. </p><p>“I hate you,” Eddie said dryly, which only caused Richie to laugh more. </p><p>“No, you don’t.”</p><p>“I do,” he said, but all the plate-waggling was making the pasta-smell waft, and Eddie’s stomach betrayed him by growling loudly between them. He narrowed his eyes at Richie, but it was pointless. Richie was laughing again, leaning so wildly that Eddie was worried he’d dump his spaghetti all over himself. (It would serve him right.) </p><p>After a sharp elbow to the ribs from Eddie, however, he settled into a wheezing, gleaming giggle, and Eddie fucking loved him, fuck it all. </p><p>“Dig in, you little cannibal,” Richie teased, passing him a fork and a napkin. Eddie rolled his eyes but did what he was told. He did, however, throw the wadded-up aluminum foil back into Richie’s face and took no small amount of joy hearing the yelp he gave as it hit him and made the forkful of pasta fall back onto the plate. </p><p>“You’re so rude, Spaghetti, honestly. I go through the hard work of cooking you this beautiful dinner, and you pay me back with assault.” </p><p>“Oh, bullshit!” Eddie called around his first mouthful. It was delicious, savory and tangy, and there was no way Richie made it himself. He told him as much, too. “You probably had your mom make this for you!” </p><p>Richie gasped, bringing his saucy fork to his chest and leaving a deeper red tine-print on the already-red of his sweater. </p><p>“I’ll have you know I am an excellent chef!”</p><p>“Bullshit,” Eddie said again, scooping up another bite. Richie huffed.</p><p>“Well, you don’t seem to be having any problems eating my food.” </p><p>“Wait,” Eddie said, fork poised halfway to his mouth. “You seriously made this yourself?” Richie nodded and popped an asparagus branch into his mouth. His eyes were wide and honest. “Wow, Rich. Sorry. This is really incredible.” </p><p>Even in the low, flickering light of the movie, Eddie could see the flush coloring Richie’s cheeks. </p><p>“Thanks,” he said. “This is one of exactly two meals I can make, so don’t get too impressed.” </p><p>“What’s the other?” </p><p>Richie suddenly grinned. </p><p>“Pancakes,” he said, and Eddie threw his head back and laughed. </p><p>“Oh my God, Richie! Pancakes aren't a meal! And besides, a fourth grader could make pancakes!”</p><p>“No, nuh-uh, not like these. They’re perfect and airy and have little chocolate chips inside if you’re a good boy,” Richie said, still grinning. </p><p>Eddie loved him so much it hurt. </p><p>They continue to eat, tossing jabs and teases back and forth over the silent movie until Richie’s eyes lit up and his mouth fell open into a grin. </p><p>“Oh, I just had a great idea,” he said. He set aside his half-eaten plate and wriggled around on the blanket until he was sitting directly behind Eddie with his knees bracketing his hips. </p><p>“What are you doing?” Eddie asked suspiciously, but Richie just grinned and tugged his shoulders back until they were pressed against his chest. </p><p>“You just eat and watch the movie, Spagheds,” he said, his lips brushing the shell of Eddie’s ear. (Because focusing on dinner and the movie was even <em>remotely</em> possible with Richie’s breath ghosting over his skin…) </p><p>Eddie tried though, he pulled up a forkful mechanically and turned his eyes to the flickering screen, where a cow was being hoisted up over the t-rex enclosure. Richie cleared his throat. </p><p>“Please don’t <em>moooo</em>-ve me in with the dinosaur,” he said, his voice stretching round and cow-like. Eddie nearly choked on his pasta as he giggled. He felt Richie’s chuckling breath brush over the side of his neck before he was clearing his throat again. This time, when he spoke, his words fell over John Hammond’s moving lips, and the Voice was vaguely Scottish. </p><p>“We’ve been specially breeding these talking cows, too, Dr. Grant. Vinny up there’s been a right wanker lately. I hope you’re hungry for steak!” </p><p>The scene shifted to show the cow now being lowered into the enclosure, and Richie’s cow voice came back laced with panic. </p><p>“Nooo! Johnny, please! I swear I won’t tell anyone about your affair with the lawyer dude! Please! I’ve got a heifer back home! Calves!” </p><p>The branches within the cage began to quake, and Richie began to moo frantically, Eddie a giggling mess against his chest. When Jeff Goldblum was visible through the quaking leaves, Eddie swallowed and cleared his own throat. </p><p>“Actually,” Eddie said, dropping his voice low into the best impression of Goldblum he had. “Venison sounds great.” </p><p>Richie let out a wail of laughter, his arms tightening around Eddie’s middle. </p><p>Eddie was warm all over, even as Richie’s cold-ass fingers wedged their way the barest amount under the hem of Eddie’s sweatshirt and dress shirt. </p><p>They carried on like that for a long while, narrating increasingly ridiculous dialogue as Dennis fumbled out an excuse for leaving and the T-rex harassed the kids in the car. (Richie’s T-rex Voice would surely leave his throat raw for days, and Eddie was laughing so hard he felt sure he’d be right there with him.) </p><p>They had just gotten to Grant finding the hatched dinosaur eggs when the heat of Richie’s fingers splayed out around Eddie’s navel grew into a sensation he couldn’t drag his attention away from. Richie was rumbling low in his ear, pretending the dinosaur eggs were extra-large birth control pills the Gallimimus had only been pretending to take. </p><p>“My ex-wife pulled this trick,” Richie said in the Voice he’d crafted for Grant. “It was all fun and games until she watched me eat a lobster, shell and all, and realized the kind of father I’d be.” Richie’s fingers drummed a bit against Eddie’s stomach, and Eddie let out a shaky breath. “Never seen someone run so fast.” </p><p>“Rich,” he said, turning his head just a bit so that his nose brushed across Richie’s cheekbone. Richie, smiling at his own dumb jokes, hummed and turned to Eddie with bright eyes. </p><p>Eddie tipped his chin up and caught Richie’s lips in his own. As their tongues slid together, distantly, Eddie was aware that he was about to miss Jeff Goldblum’s infamous nipple-show, but then Eddie pushed forward, and Richie slid back, and they were laid out front-to-front on top of the blanket mound, and it didn’t matter. </p><p>Richie was cuter than Jeff Goldblum, and Richie’s hands were ghosting up his back, hot and reverent, and Eddie <em>wanted</em>. Eddie wanted and wanted, and Richie gave and gave until their shirts were tossed into the cold night and Eddie was reaching between them for the fly of his jeans. </p><p>“Are you sure?” Richie asked, his voice wrecked and panting. Eddie smiled down at him. </p><p>“Yeah, Rich. I’m sure.” And he was. He wasn’t nervous, wasn’t scared. He just wanted Richie, in every way. “Are <em>you</em> sure?” </p><p>Richie scoffed as soon as the words were off his lips. </p><p>“Fuck yeah, I am,” he said, and though there was a small tremor in his voice, he held Eddie’s eyes and smiled softly. </p><p>After that, Eddie seemed both to float out of his body and exist with his entirety in every one of his cells. Richie was panting below him, his kisses sloppy and off-center as they moved against one another. </p><p>Eddie was spiraling deliciously towards the edge under the touch of Richie’s hands, but when Richie’s groans turned from desperate to pained, Eddie scrambled away like he’d been electrocuted. </p><p>And Richie, Richie curled over onto his side, pressed his forehead into the blankets, a ripple of fear spasming through Eddie so potent that he forgot all about being ripped away from an orgasm. He tucked himself back into his jeans and fumbled back to Richie’s side. </p><p>“Fuck,” Richie breathed, his face pinched up in pain. “God, I’m so sorry.” His shoulder shuddered when Eddie pressed his hand there. </p><p>“Richie, what’s wrong?” Eddie asked, his voice shaking. Richie shook his head, glasses sliding askew down his nose. </p><p>“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.”</p><p>“Richie, don’t apologize, just tell me what’s wrong!” He tried to keep his voice calming and gentle, but he was scared, and it was lancing out through his words like spears. Richie’s face pinched tighter.</p><p>“Just give me a minute,” he murmured after a moment, leaving Eddie with no way to help him, nothing to do but stroke firmly up the icy knobs of his spine and <em>worry</em>. After a few minutes of Richie’s heavy breathing slowly, ever so slowly, evening out, he groaned and rolled onto his back. Eddie’s hands hovered over him, even as Richie tugged his zipper back up. </p><p>“Fuck,” Richie said, dry and heavy in a perfect summation of whatever the fuck it was that just happened. “Way to kill the mood, huh, Eds?” Richie asked, one tired corner of his mouth quirking as he brought a hand up to straighten his glasses. </p><p>“What just happened?” Eddie asked. His voice was steadier now that Richie wasn’t curled over himself in pain, but his panic was hardly mollified. It ratcheted around angrily within him. </p><p>“I dunno,” Richie said. He reached out and tugged one of Eddie’s palms against his chest. Eddie’s fingers splayed over the pink-pucker ridges of his scar. “I mean, I was enjoying myself,” he offered with a shrug of his shoulder. “Then, I was <em>not</em>.” </p><p>Eddie’s throat clicked as he swallowed. </p><p>“Did…did I do something wrong?” he asked, and Richie’s fingers tightened over his. </p><p>“No! God, no, Eds. You were perfect.” He lifted a hand and cupped Eddie’s cheek. “You’re perfect,” he said, smiling a bit. “I just got a bit too excited, and my heart got away from me. It’s not a big deal. Come here, yeah?” He pulled a bit with the hand on Eddie’s cheek, then wrapped both arms around his back as Eddie settled against him. Richie’s skin was like ice against his chest, ridged with gooseflesh, practically unyielding. </p><p>“You scared me, Richie,” Eddie whispered. </p><p>“I’ll make it up to you,” Richie said, his voice sounding tired and scraped raw. </p><p>“That’s not what I mean, I just…I didn’t know how to help you,” Eddie said. He tilted his head up so that his chest rested against Richie’s sternum, but Richie wasn’t looking at him. He was staring straight up at the sky with his jaw clenched. </p><p>“I know,” he said after a beat. “I’m sorry.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Do I have thoughts™ about <em>Grease 2</em>?? Abso-fuckin-lutely. Are they pertinent? Ehh…</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Richie devises a very bad plan.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>An angsty one, my dudes...</p><p>tws: mention of last chapter's sex-capades, contemplation of death (in reference to Richie's heart), staggeringly low self-worth, medical procedures, beginning inklings of suicidal ideation</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div>
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    <em>October ‘93</em>
 
</p>
</div><p>After the truly mortifying conclusion to their first-ever delve into sex, Richie dropped Eddie off—ahead of curfew, thank you very much, very-intimidating-progenitor-of-the-very-unintimidating-Edward-Kaspbrak—and headed home. </p><p>During the drive, Richie <em>stewed</em>. He’d tried not to let it show to Eddie, but Richie was upset by what happened. They’d been writhing around, as teens are wont to do, and Richie was fucking <em>barreling</em> towards the finish line, loving every gasping second of it. Then, he’d gotten a little too much in his head about that being his first sexual experience, about <em>Eddie’s</em> hands being the ones to sear into him, about how good and right and thrilling it all felt. </p><p>His heart had seemed to violently believe that it was all just a bit too much. The damn thing clenched down, sharp and painful, and here he was now, left to deal with the consequences. </p><p>Maybe it was dumb for his first concern to be that Eddie would be too terrified of Richie keeling over to ever engage in sexual activity again. But again. Teen. Wont. Blue Balls. </p><p>And of course, there was all the incredible turmoil that came with knowing he’d scared the fuck out of Eddie. As soon as Eddie had said those words, <em>I didn’t know how to help you</em>, all the familiar guilt and resentment and just…uninhibited <em>angst</em> came crashing down onto him. It was hard to parse through, and he didn’t know if trying to do so made him hate himself or the people that cared about him more. Generally, he tried to avoid the situations that forced him to think too hard about it. </p><p>Then, there was the dread. As the—mostly—responsible holder of a shitty-ass heart, he knew he owed it to his parents to tell them he’d had something of an episode and schedule a check-up. They’d be afraid. He’d be afraid. They’d try and fail to comfort him. He’d try and fail to comfort them. They’d all go to bed wondering if he was even worth the trouble. </p><p>Okay, he knew that wasn’t exactly fair, but nevertheless, there was a small, dark part of him that was <em>constantly</em> trying to convince him that he wasn’t worth the trouble. </p><p>By the time Richie’s truck tires hit the gravel of his driveway, he was nothing but a big knot of frustration. There was a dim glow coming from the front windows, and Richie approached the door with his chin held as high and steady as he could manage. He felt almost like an unrepentant man walking to his execution might.</p><p>Nicole was slouched down on the couch when he came in, and she barely glanced up from a book she was reading in the low lamplight. </p><p>“Hey, Nicki,” Richie said, kicking his shoes off. She grunted in response. “Mom and Dad in bed?” he asked, but before she could answer, he heard the rustling of pans down the hall. </p><p>“They’re in the kitchen,” she said. </p><p>Richie stared at her for a moment. She looked so young with her hair tied back from her face, almost unchanged from the baby-photos he’d held in the attic a couple of weeks ago. His stomach churned at the thought, and he brought a hand up to knuckle against his chest. </p><p>“Hey, Nick,” Richie said, shifting a bit. She glanced up, her brow already furrowed at the somber tone of his voice. </p><p>“You okay?” she asked, and, God, he wished he was. He wished he was if only so that she could have had half the childhood she deserved, so that she wouldn’t have had to be dragged around from waiting room to waiting room before she could even ride a bike, so that she could have grown up annoyed with him instead of quietly resenting him for existing at all. </p><p>He tried to smile. </p><p>“I’m just sorry,” he said, and the crease between her eyebrows deepened. She closed her book and set it aside. </p><p>“Richie, if you ate the last of my ice cream again, I swear, I’ll kick your ass,” she threatened, and it dragged a small laugh out of him. </p><p>“No, I didn’t. I’m just sorry.” </p><p>“Why?” she asked. “You’re freaking me out,” she said, and yeah. It wasn’t quite the same words, but it was there all the same, the same sentiment, the same quiet acknowledgement that he did nothing but cause pain wherever he went. </p><p>He swallowed and shrugged. </p><p>“You deserved better,” he said, then padded into the kitchen. Nicole, never one to be brushed off, however, scrambled up off the couch and followed him, her concern practically radiating off her. He almost regretted even mentioning it, but he knew if he died the next time he touched Eddie Kaspbrak’s dick, he’d have regretted never apologizing to her for all the hell that his heart had put her through. In fact, he should apologize to everyone who cared about him. </p><p>Their parents looked up from the last of the dishes when they walked into the kitchen. </p><p>“Hey, Rich. How was date night?” Went asked, smiling a bit. </p><p>Richie nodded. </p><p>“Good,” he said, then settled onto a barstool and braced his arms on the countertop. “I, uh, I need you to make me an appointment with Dr. Warner.” </p><p>Dr. Warner was the peds cardiologist at St. Joseph’s in Bangor. She was a tough lady, no-bullshit, but she’d been with him from the start, and no matter how much of a bastard Richie had been that day, he always left her exam room with a lollipop. </p><p>Went’s face grew suddenly grim. </p><p>“Do we need to go now?” Maggie asked, and Richie shook his head. “Richie,” she warned, and he sighed. </p><p>“I’m fine. I just…I had an episode? Sort of?”</p><p>“Explain,” Went said, no bullshit, just like Dr. Warner. Richie halfway wondered if it was a med school thing. </p><p>“I was with Eddie, and my heart started racing. Then, there was the sharp twisting—” Richie thought they were living in grim times indeed that he could say something like that to his parents and they’d just nod like he’d told them the mail had been delivered “—and I had to lie down until it went away,” he finished, picking at his cuticles. </p><p>“Do you know what triggered it?” Went asked, his brows furrowed. </p><p>Richie tore at the skin until blood bubbled up. He nodded and shoved his finger into his mouth to keep from having to look up at them. He knew by the flaming of his face, however, that they knew, and Richie thought that maybe it would be the shame of inadvertently talking about his sex life that killed him. What a plot twist. </p><p>“Maybe avoid…that,” Maggie started tactfully, uncomfortably, when it was clear that Richie wasn’t going to elaborate. “Until after you see Dr. Warner.” </p><p>Richie nodded again. </p><p>When he finally glanced up at them, they were both staring back, soft-eyed and concerned. </p><p>“I scared him tonight,” he murmured finally. They both went somehow softer, and Richie swallowed. “He wasn’t a part of it for so long, you know? It was just good, and easy, and now…” Richie sighed and tugged at his hair, eyes dropping to the countertop. “Now, he’ll never get rid of that fear. It’ll be all he sees when he looks at me.” </p><p>Part of him really hoped they’d lie and say that it wasn’t true, that Eddie could still look at him and forget that he was broken, that he had a rapidly-approaching expiration date. </p><p>But his parents had never lied to him before, and now, they just stared back, soft and sad, with their grief so heavy it made it hard for Richie to breathe. Even Nicole was silent and grim by his side.</p><p>He scrubbed a hand down his face and pushed himself up. </p><p>“One of you will call Dr. Warner?” he asked, already turning for the stairs, not looking back at them. </p><p>“First thing,” Maggie confirmed. </p><p>“Night,” he said, then dragged himself up to his room. </p><p>Sleep took a long time to come. </p><p>By morning, Richie’s mood had yet to bounce back. He made his way downstairs, expecting to find the usual quiet of his father already gone to work, and his mother and sister in their various stages and locations of getting-ready. Instead, his father was leaning against the counter with a coffee mug, watching Richie’s slow clomp down the stairs. He stared blearily at his dad. </p><p>“What are you doing here?” he asked, but Went just raised an eyebrow. </p><p>“I happen to live here, son.” Richie opened his mouth—either to be a smartass or to tell his dad not to be one, he hadn’t decided yet—but Went cut him off. “I called Dr. Warner, and she’s got an appointment slot available at nine-thirty.” </p><p>“Okay…that still doesn’t explain why you’re here,” Richie said, padding his way into the kitchen and reaching for a coffee mug. His dad caught his wrist. </p><p>“No caffeine, Rich,” he said, leveling a <em>serious</em> gaze at him, to which Richie stared back in shock. </p><p>“Are you serious?” </p><p>“As a heart attack,” Went shot back, his lips unflinching but eyes shining mirthfully, and damn it, that <em>was</em> funny. Richie’s mouth twitched.</p><p>“No fair,” he said, crossing his arms and gazing longingly at his father’s coffee mug. “You can’t be funny while you’re being a dick.” </p><p>“I don’t know who put it into your head that it was okay for you to have caffeine with a heart condition,” Went said, all the humor suddenly gone from his face. “Have you been drinking coffee every morning?” </p><p>“Whatever,” Richie grumbled. He reached for a glass instead of a mug and filled it with orange juice, like he was Pavlov’d into drinking something to wake up. “Get to the point, Wentworth. Are you coming with me to my doctor’s appointment or something?” </p><p>“I’m driving you, yes,” Went said carefully, and when Richie’s eyes sprang up to his, they were ready for the fight. He raised a placating hand before Richie could even get his complaint out, but damn if Richie wasn’t going to be heard anyway. </p><p>“Dad,” he protested, setting his juice on the counter, already seeing where this was going, already feeling the indignation rip through him. </p><p>“Dr. Warner thinks—”</p><p>“Fuck Dr. Warner!” Richie cut in, but Went just started over, louder, and with a no-nonsense lilt to his words.</p><p>“Dr. Warner thinks it would be best if you stopped driving until we get this new development under control.” </p><p>“We’ve been trying for seventeen years to get this ‘new development’ under control!” Richie shouted, swiping an arm out angrily for emphasis. “Am I just supposed to stop living my life until she can do her fucking job?!” </p><p>“That’s enough, Richie,” Went warned sharply. The two glared at each other for a moment, Went breaking first. He sighed and cut his eyes to the side before sliding them back towards Richie. “I understand that you’re frustrated, Rich. I really do. I’m frustrated too.” </p><p>“Whoopie,” Richie muttered. His father graciously ignored him. </p><p>“But your health absolutely has to come first. If you have another episode, and while you’re driving, no less, even if it’s just a small one… We’re not willing to take that risk.” </p><p>Richie grit his teeth and looked away from his father, shaking his head. It wasn’t fair. They were saving his life by reducing it to something he didn’t even want to live. It wasn’t fucking fair. </p><p>“I’m going to shower,” Richie said, then left the room. </p><p>The drive to Bangor was, needless to say, icy. Richie’d gone upstairs and showered, trying—and failing—to get his shitstorm of emotions under control. </p><p>After, he’d gone back into the kitchen to call Eddie and, at the mere prospect of lumping more concern onto him with the truth about his doctor’s appointment, lied, a stone in his gut. Richie told him, instead, that his truck had broken down, that he would have to miss school to take it to the shop. </p><p>Eddie, so trusting in him that it made Richie <em>ache</em>, accepted the lie immediately and said he loved Richie before they hung up. </p><p>The waiting room on the peds wing was wallpapered with zoo animals. Richie had given them all names when he was nine. The elephant whose trunk disappeared behind the electrical socket was Topsy—what, he could be funny <em>and</em> know history—and the giraffe whose left eye seemed to follow Richie’s every move was Juniper, for no particular reason other than that he liked that name. </p><p>Richie revisited them all while they waited, feeling very much like that ten-year-old who had been so scared of dying in his sleep that he’d flat-out refused to, hating that he would be eighteen in two months and was still sitting with his daddy in the pediatric wing. There were a lot of reasons he hated doing so, but he’d always found, no matter the age, that listing them out <em>while</em> he sat there often led to him being crabbier than he already was. </p><p>His day had already begun pretty crabbily, thanks to the previous night’s swirling shitstorm of emotions, an astounding lack of caffeine, and the fresh robbery of his independence. He figured he’d cut Dr. Warner a break, even though he was severely questioning—regardless of how much he actually did like her—whether or not she really deserved it. </p><p>By the time that she called him back to the exam room and sat him out on the table that was about three years too small for him, he’d pretty much decided that she didn’t deserve the break in his mood. He kept his eyes narrowed at her. </p><p>“What’s going on, Richie?” she asked, plopping down into a backless stool and rolling closer. </p><p>Part of him really wanted to stick his tongue out at her and refuse to answer, but the larger part of him knew better. He told her about the episode, vague sexy context and all, hating the emotionless nodding she was doing as she scribbled it down onto his Anna-Karenina-length chart. </p><p>“And uh,” Richie went on, glancing at his father. Went’s eyebrows surged upwards just a bit, and Richie sighed. He knew he’d get his ass handed to him later… “I’ve been noticing some other stuff, smaller stuff.” </p><p>Richie didn’t dare look back to his father. </p><p>“What kinds of stuff?” Dr. Warner asked, tilting her head a bit and pausing in her scribbling. </p><p>“My hands being icy from the bad circulation, dizzy spells, that kind of thing. I can’t really walk for longer than a few minutes before I need to sit down,” Richie said, picking at his scabbed cuticles and vowing just to sit in the betrayed gaze his father was lasering into him. </p><p>“And these are new symptoms?” Dr. Warner asked, like she didn’t have his chart literally right in front of her. </p><p>“Yeah. I mean, they were there before you put the stent in, but there were a few months after that they weren’t there.” </p><p>“And now?” she prompted.</p><p>“Well, I’m back here, aren’t I?” </p><p>Dr. Warner gave him a barely-there smile. </p><p>“Fair point.” She clicked her pen closed and slid the chart onto a small counter behind her before planting her hands back on her knees. “Alright. You know the drill,” she said, raising her eyebrows at him. He nodded and sighed. </p><p>“You mind waiting outside?” Richie asked, tilting his head the slightest bit towards his father. He still couldn’t bring himself to look at him head-on after not having told him about the coldness and dizzy spells. </p><p>Went nodded once before slipping out of the room. </p><p>This was normally the point where Dr. Warner turned to face the wall while Richie stripped naked and got into a hospital gown for whatever array of violating and humiliating tests she’d concocted for him today, but this time, he cleared his throat. </p><p>“Hey, Doc?” he said after neither of them moved. </p><p>“Yes?” </p><p>“Was it really the sex that caused the episode?” he asked softly, his face already heating. Dr. Warner chewed her lip for a moment, but her eyes said it all.</p><p>“It’s very likely,” she said. “You know that any sort of vigorous physical activity has the potential to be triggering for you, and when you add the physiological responses of emotions to that activity…well, you saw what happened.” </p><p>Richie’s throat worked to swallow down the lump of emotion. God, he was just…he was fucking worthless is what he was. He hurt the people he loved, wreaked havoc on their hearts and minds and checkbooks, and now, he wouldn’t even be able to love Eddie the way he deserved. </p><p>“Are you okay?” Dr. Warner asked after a long moment of Richie staring resolutely at the wall, trying not to cry. He flicked his eyes over to her, and there she sat, rife with more concern that he couldn’t fucking carry. </p><p>“I’m gonna die a virgin,” Richie mumbled, apparently able to inject just enough playfulness into his otherwise devastated tone to get Dr. Warner to roll her eyes. </p><p>“How about you get changed before you start writing your epitaph, huh?” </p><p>He tugged off his clothes methodically and underwent the numerous tests and scopes and pokes and prods while feeling about as far away from his body as possible. His thoughts never stopped swirling, and by the time Dr. Warner was waving his father back into the room, he felt nothing but wrung out and broken. </p><p>Dr. Warner sat back down on her stool with a grim sigh and looked between them. </p><p>“So, the stent we put in is still in place and is still doing its job,” she said. Went glanced from her to Richie and back again. </p><p>“Well, that’s good news, right?” </p><p>“In a sense, yes. It does, however, mean that that isn't what caused these symptoms to reemerge.” She let that news settle for a moment before she continued. Her eyes locked onto Richie’s and didn’t waver. God, he hated that look. It never meant good news. “The bigger concern is that the degradation of your ventricular septum is increasing at a faster rate than we anticipated.” </p><p>“Faster rate, what does that mean?” Went asked, ever one to step up for specifics when all Richie could hear was, <em>Hey, kid, guess what! Now, you get to die even faster than before!</em> He choked down a swallow. </p><p>It looked like he wouldn’t get those next ten years, after all. </p><p>The words played over and over, drowning out the jargoned and ultimately fruitless conversation between his doctor and his father. He’d become well-versed in pretending not to understand the words the doctors said throughout his childhood, and really, no matter <em>what</em> they said, the bottom line was always the same.</p><p>He had a short list in his mind that he normally, and preferably, kept tucked away behind worry about the impending SATs or excitement for the release of <em>Wayne’s World 2</em> just days after his birthday in December or any number of other rotating and throw-away things that felt silly, now, but had always served the purpose he had intended for them. They were things he had to do before he got to The List, things he had to convince himself he’d have, a buffer of gossamer future-things. The List said, in order of when each item was added:</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>1.	Go for a polar bear swim.<br/>
2.	Beat Mike at checkers.<br/>
3.	Learn about the birds.<br/>
4.	Adopt a turtle.<br/>
5.	Make Bill so annoyed he forgets his stutter.<br/>
6.	See Bev happy (preferably with Ben).<br/>
7.	Bake with Eddie.</p>
</blockquote><p>That was it. That was his list, and he was saving it. Hadn’t gone anywhere near a turtle or the ocean in the winter or Eddie with an apron, because once he did…that was it. There would be nothing left for him. </p><p>“What are we supposed to do now?” Went asked, in a tone sharp enough to yank Richie back to the present, just a little. The List scrolled back up and hid itself away, and Richie found his eyes sliding over to Dr. Warner, as though she had magically come up with a cure-all for shitty hearts in the last eighteen minutes. Her mouth pressed into a line, her eyes so sad. </p><p>“We wait for a transplant,” she said. </p><p>Richie dug up a flat and lifeless smile in the silence that followed. He’d been on the transplant list since he was four. </p><p>Dr. Warner’s grim mouth grew grimmer at the twist of Richie’s lips. “I know," she said. "You’ve already been waiting quite a while.” </p><p>“Thirteen years,” Went said, his voice sharp. </p><p>“Dad, it’s not her fault,” Richie mumbled. He was so tired. He didn’t really want to wait any more. </p><p>“I can’t begin to understand what you’re going through, either of you,” Dr. Warner said, offering them both sincere gazes that were <em>so heavy</em>. “But I swear to you that I’ll be right here with you every step of the way. We wait for the transplant, and in the meantime, we minimize stress in as many areas of your life as possible. Very little physical activity, including sex, no driving, no jump scares, no school—” </p><p>“No,” Richie cut in, shaking his head. “Toss my keys, turn me into a celibate couch potato, fine. But I’m staying in school.” </p><p>“Richie,” Went said, already shaking his head. Richie ignored him and turned back to Dr. Warner. </p><p>“What are the odds that a donor will actually pop up before my heart gives out completely?” Richie asked, working hard to keep his voice steady and mostly succeeding. </p><p>Dr. Warner, gem that she was, didn’t flinch. </p><p>“In all honesty, low,” she said, and even though part of him knew already, the words still felt like a roundhouse kick to his solar plexus. </p><p>He swallowed and turned back to his father. </p><p>“If I’m gonna die either way,” Richie said once he’d found his voice, hollow and choked though it was, “I want to do it on my terms.” </p><p>Went’s misty eyes stared back as he scrubbed a hand across his forehead. After a beat, they flicked over to Dr. Warner, and Richie saw her give a resigned shrug. </p><p>“You know my professional opinion on the matter. Continuing education in a traditional environment is risky, but there are riskier things,” she conceded. “Ultimately, the decision is yours.” </p><p>“Then I’m staying in school,” Richie said. He knew that, technically, legally, it was probably the decision of his parents, but he knew that they knew he was right. It was his life to live, and he’d be the one to die. They had to let him do it how he wanted. </p><p>Went didn’t give that easily, however. </p><p>“I want to speak with your mother before we agree on that,” he said, but Richie knew that Maggie knew too. </p><p>He’d spent a lot of time living his life to comfort them, doing things the way they wanted or not doing the things he wanted. No little league. No chasing geese by the barrens. No one getting too close, no one else to drag down the way they would be. (Not until Eddie, whispered some nasty, hateful part of his brain. He tried to convince himself that Eddie didn’t love him <em>that much</em>, but the thought hurt him in a way that made him physically recoil.) </p><p>And yeah, maybe his parents’ rules of safety had given him a few more years, and yeah, he was grateful for that handful of extra time and what it had brought, but it looked like all they’d scraped together for him was coming to an end, despite their best efforts. </p><p>All that was left for him now was to live and die how he wanted. He would do what he could, not drive, not have sex, not drink coffee, but he wouldn’t not see the family he’d made in his friends. </p><p>Dr. Warner gave him his pick of lollipops before she let them out of her office. He chose a strawberry one that did very little to quell the mountain of grief pouring through him, some stemming from his own chest, some being sieved through him from his father’s, some, a sort of abstract and screaming apology to everyone he loved and who he knew loved him. </p><p>Almost on cue, Richie glanced up and caught sight of Beverly standing across the peds wing with her mouth open a bit. She was staring at him, sad-eyed. </p><p>He took the sucker from his mouth and tipped it at her, but he didn’t really have it in him to smile. She made half a step towards him, but he just...didn’t have it in him. He dropped his eyes and followed listlessly after his father. </p><p>Once they were tucked back into his father’s boxy, shining Sentra, Richie let himself slip further into the quiet of his mind. He half-expected his dad to start railing on him for keeping the small symptoms from him, something to keep his mind off the reality that Dr. Warner had just shown them, but as the engine groaned to life in the otherwise quiet, he realized how stupid that was. The grim outcome they'd been given isn't something you <em>can</em> keep your mind off. </p><p>He’d been stupid to even try. </p><p>Suddenly, those last three months with Eddie taking up nearly every waking thought seemed like a childish, selfish fantasy. He’d known right from the beginning how it was going to end, and still, he’d let himself get caught up in the complete and joyous transcendence of his first—and likely only—love. And worse, he’d brought Eddie into the wreck of what his reality looked like. </p><p>“I need to grab some paperwork from the office before we head home,” Went said, cracking through Richie’s swirling maudlin panic like a bullwhip, even though his voice was soft. Richie’d finished his lollipop some few miles ago, judging by the papery pulp-mess he found himself still gnawing on. </p><p>“Alright,” Richie said, just to get his father to stop <em>looking</em> at him. It wasn’t like he had anywhere else to go, or anyway to get there, or, really, any particular inclination to do anything other than sit passively in the passenger seat and try to keep his head above whatever crushing wave life threw at him next. </p><p>Went considered him for another long moment before letting out a dull exhale and slipping into the next lane. A few blocks later, he turned into the lot of Tozier Family Dentistry and parked in front of the neat little placard that read <em>W. Tozier, DMD</em>. </p><p>They got out quietly, and when Went keyed open the employee entrance and held it ajar for Richie to pass through, he was once again thrown back in time to when he would follow his dad into work on check-up days and give half-muffled comic book reenactments to the array of dental casts adorning the conference room’s large table like macabre centerpieces. He almost turned for the old room on instinct alone, but his father glanced back at him and nodded over his shoulder. </p><p>“This way. I just need to grab a few things,” Went said, so Richie followed, feeling off-kilter with the way his mind was trying to reimagine those long, sad days in a halcyon haze, as if they'd been golden and he hadn’t been dying then, too. </p><p>Went had just stepped through his office door with Richie still trailing behind him when a voice broke through the otherwise contained chatter of usual workplace goings-on. </p><p>“Dr. Tozier!” the voice said, and Richie glanced back to see a blue-scrubbed dental assistant looking with wide eyes and a mask tucked down under her chin. Went leaned out of the door around Richie. </p><p>“Yes, Alison?”</p><p>“I’m so sorry to bother you. I know you called in this morning, but we’ve got a patient who I could really use your help with.” Alison shifted uneasily on her feet, and that look of unease was mirrored in Went’s face when he turned back to Richie. </p><p>Richie lifted a shoulder, and his father smiled a bit. </p><p>“I’m sorry. I’ll try to be quick.” Richie nodded. “I’ll get you a blue plate once we leave to make up for it. How’s that?” Went asked, his eyes soft and apologetic. </p><p>“Sure, Dad,” Richie said faintly, already settling down into one of the overstuffed chairs across from his father’s desk. Blue plates from the diner down the block used to be part of their routine, too. </p><p>It was strange how much of the day was shaping up to be like relieving an old memory, and perhaps even more strange was the lilted sort of comfort he found in that. Sure, the news was shit ten ways from Sunday, and sure, he had less of his life left than even when he’d left the doctor’s office—though, he supposed that would be true of anyone if perhaps not as keenly felt—but there was a familiarity to it. Not to mention his brain’s continued insistence on romanticizing days like these in his memory. All of it jumbled together to give him a stilted and tepid sort of hope. </p><p>He’d been happy those days, right? He’d been terrified, absolutely, but he’d had his friends—only three at the time, Mike and Bill and Stan—but they were there, and they were enough. He’d gone home to them and had acted as if nothing were wrong, and though they’d surely all known otherwise, they’d acted the same. </p><p>He thought, vaguely, as he clacked open and shut a pink, plastic jaw that had rested on the edge of his father’s desk, that his friends had been his only saving grace. They’d treated him like he was normal, and in turn, he’d <em>felt</em> normal, and he hadn’t had to think about any of this bullshit. </p><p>Part of him wondered if he could carry this rosy, idyllic mindset home that night, if he could rake it into his relationship with Eddie and make<em> him</em> forget that anything was wrong, make it so Richie could look at him without seeing the end barreling back in his eyes. Make it so every time Eddie looked at Richie with even a morsel of concern, Richie wasn’t tempted to jump ship right then and there just to save them all the pain. </p><p>Then, they could just live their lives, happy, together, unmarred by worry and guilt and resentment, for as long as possible. </p><p>Richie’d be goddamned if he didn’t at least try. </p><p>But as he sat there, fingering the gumline of the skeletal prop from his father’s desk, he knew what he would have to do in order to keep that happiness. </p><p>He’d have to lie. To Eddie. To his friends (since they'd been the ones to tell Eddie in the first place, though he never had figured out who exactly it had been). He couldn’t tell a single one of them about his worsening condition, and if the need to lie to his friends in order to keep them far enough away to love didn’t just feel like a swift kick to the balls, he didn’t know what did. </p><p>But at least this way, he could keep them in his life.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>(I want to come and say that first, I'm so sorry... And then I want to gently remind that there is NO MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH IN THIS FIC. Angst with a Happy Ending, guaranteed.) </p><p>I hope you're all having an amazing week in spite of me. I love you all&lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter 17</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Halloween begins Happening.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>We're gonna all pretend Halloween of 1993 happened on a Saturday mostly for reasons that include I am dumb. (I literally had a whole Google calendar set up and this <em>still</em> happened. RIP me.) </p><p>tws: discussion of the sex incident circa chapter 15, brief mentions of Sonia's manipulation, mentions of marijuana, mention of a pedophile (in reference to the novel, <em>Lolita</em>)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div>
  <p>
  
    <em>October ‘93</em>
 
</p>
</div><p>After Richie’s truck broke down, Eddie and Richie both started getting picked up in the mornings and dropped off after Eddie’s track practices by Mike, which happened to work out nicely, with Mike staying right across the street most afternoons for a shadowing-position he’d gotten with the Derry Public Library. Still, Eddie tried to protest their carpool, since he knew neither he nor Richie were exactly on the way, but Mike fervently insisted. </p><p>“It’s really no problem," Mike said to them on that first morning. "I probably messed something up while we were rebuilding it anyway.” </p><p>Richie was already snug inside the cab when Eddie climbed in, nearly pressed against Mike’s side so that Eddie could fit with his backpack and gym bag. He let out a dry laugh at Mike’s claim. </p><p>“Absolutely not. I break everything I touch,” Richie said to him, a sharpness to his voice that Eddie didn’t like one bit. He squeezed his fingers when Eddie reached for him.  </p><p>“Well, you should still let me take a look at it. Maybe I could figure it out,” Mike said, craning back to check his blind spot before he pulled out onto the street. </p><p>“Nah, don’t worry about it. It’s a piece of shit, anyway. Plus, then we’d miss this incredible bonding opportunity,” Richie said, throwing a gleeful arm around Mike’s shoulders and tugging Eddie closer by the wrist. They formed a grinning-Richie-sandwich, and Eddie thought it was kind of perfect. </p><p>So, that became their new routine. Eddie waited around at the quiet breakfast table with his mother until he heard the crunch of asphalt outside. Then, he gathered up his things and slid into the truck beside Richie, smiling. They went to class, bored and listless but together with Mike and Bill and Stan (and still, Eddie missed Beverly and Ben, as dumb as he knew it sounded). </p><p>Most afternoons, Eddie ran and Richie sat either shivering on the sidelines or pestering Mike in the library—more often the latter at Eddie’s insistence and increasing concern about the cold sweeping in. On a few rare occasions, track practice was canceled or ended before Mike’s shadowing hours were done for the day, and Eddie and Richie would both tuck themselves down into a quiet, soft-lit corner of the stacks and pour over the library’s collection of comic books. </p><p>Richie grew quiet. Not just in the library, but everywhere. He seemed almost like a lightbulb slowly dimming before the filament burst. </p><p>It was unnerving, a stark difference from the boy who’d shrieked out T-rex noises over an otherwise quiet drive-in perch just a few weeks earlier, and when asked about this quietness, Richie pasted on a dazzling—and <em>fake</em>, Eddie knew better—smile and said ‘the ole Magster’ outlawed caffeine in their house for some new health kick. Said he was just tired. </p><p>Eddie thought that, even if it wasn’t the whole truth, it was probably still true. Richie stopped bringing canteens of coffee for them, and while Eddie had never drank it long enough to develop a dependency on it the way Richie had, the cold-turkey of it all really did seem to be affecting Richie. He lagged in the mornings, sometimes even crumpling over entirely to bury himself in Eddie’s neck until they got to the school and had to separate. (Tired Richie, Eddie had come to learn, was a soft, clingy Richie, and it was honestly pretty fucking adorable.) </p><p>More and more, Eddie understood that Richie Tozier was the love of his life, would be forever his first and only love, and Eddie was more than okay with that.</p><p>But the quiet of him unsettled Eddie right to his core, and the more time that passed with Richie offering half-smiles and limp jokes and half-assed excuses, the more convinced Eddie became that it had something to do with him. </p><p>One day while Richie was absent for a check-up, Eddie stewed throughout each class period trying to find the misstep he’d taken to cast Richie into the somber silence, desperate to draw him back out. </p><p>He searched back through his memories, Mr. Baquero rattling off unheard Spanish verb conjugations from the front of the room, until he suddenly went rigid with it. </p><p>It had all started the night of their drive-in date. For half a second, he was gripped with the dizzying fear that he’d overstepped there, had misread the signals and rushed Richie into something he hadn’t been ready for. But then, he remembered Richie’s enthusiastic consent both before and during, right up until the pain had gripped him. Eddie didn’t think it was the sex itself. </p><p>So maybe it had been the physical pain of that night that made him quiet? But if that was the case, why was he <em>still</em> being so quiet? By unspoken agreement, neither of them had initiated anything sexual since that night. (Oh, Eddie still <em>wanted</em>, don’t get him wrong. But he was scared, too. He was too scared to.)</p><p>Maybe Richie sensed that hesitation in him, or maybe he himself was hesitant, but either way, anytime the licking and petting of their movie dates on Richie’s couch or in the quiet after a night at Bill’s seemed to be veering that way, one of them softened, nuzzled, and their kisses either stopped or went soft and sweet. Warm and comfortable in a way Eddie had never felt in his life. </p><p>So then, it wasn’t the pain? </p><p>Eddie clenched his eyes closed and tried to rattle his brain for any other time he’d seen Richie grow so steadfastly quiet. </p><p>There was nothing, for a long time. At least, not until Eddie remembered the evening after he’d hitched to Bangor and back, terrified that he’d pissed Richie off into full-on heart failure. He’d asked Richie how much time, his ear pressed determinedly against the steady thrum of it, as if it could shield him from Richie’s answer, from the vulnerability in his voice. From the quiet.</p><p>Eddie’s head shot up, and from the corner of his vision, he could see Mike watching him, concerned. </p><p>“You okay?” Mike mouthed. </p><p>“Can we talk at lunch?” Eddie hissed, his heart pounding through his entire body.</p><p>Mike, eyes growing even more concerned, nodded. </p><p>The hours dragged, and the thought clawed its way through Eddie the entire time, choking him. </p><p>By the time the bell rang for lunch, Eddie was one big, pounding ball of anxiety—more so than usual, even. He all but ran to the cafeteria and found Mike stationed at their usual table, a tray of sloppy joes and tater tots already in front of him. Eddie’d left Bill behind as he tore out of his last class, and Stanley was deep in the trenches of the lunch line, so Eddie threw himself down at the table opposite Mike with the knowledge that, though they had <em>some</em> time, it was limited. </p><p>Eddie tried not to feel sick by how familiar that notion felt. </p><p>“Hey, Eddie,” Mike said, smiling over his sloppy joe. </p><p>Eddie dove in, no pleasantries, “You and Richie have been friends a long time, right?” </p><p>Mike’s eyes narrowed a bit, but he nodded. “He’s my best friend. Hell, he was pretty much my only friend before you guys.” </p><p>Eddie nodded, trying to quell the roll of his stomach, the tightness of his chest. It wasn’t really working. All he could think about was that night at the drive-in, Richie shaking in pain, that they loved each other, and there wasn’t enough time. </p><p>“I think Richie’s getting sicker,” Eddie burst finally. The words tore sharp and aching through him, like nothing he’d ever known. </p><p>Mike flinched, either from the volume of his outburst or from the content, Eddie wasn’t sure. He set his sloppy joe back onto the tray and looked at Eddie with dark, serious eyes. </p><p>“Why?” he asked, voice measured enough that it made Eddie, unhinged and nervous, tick. </p><p>The evidence poured out of him. Richie’s sudden quiet, the correlation with him telling his heart history, what happened at the drive-in. </p><p>By the end of his rambling, Stan had moved closer to the front of the line, and Bill had joined the end. Time was dwindling, and Eddie flinched again, only drawing back to himself when he felt Mike’s hand settle onto his forearm. </p><p>“Richie’s fine,” Mike said, slowly, clearly, definitively. The words rocked into Eddie, and he closed his eyes, desperate to believe it but unsure how to. </p><p>“How do you know?” Eddie whispered, and Mike’s fingers tightened around his wrist. </p><p>“He wouldn’t hide that from us,” Mike, again, so, so sure. “You know he wouldn’t.” </p><p>And just like that, the words loosened the fist around Eddie’s heart, the panic. Mike was right. Richie wouldn’t keep something like that from them. From him. </p><p>And as swiftly as the relief poured through him at his horrifying suspicion being rationalized false, the gnawing worry crept back in. If it wasn’t his health, then why was Richie so upset? </p><p>“Then what’s <em>wrong</em>?” Eddie breathed, his voice teetering dangerously close to a whine. “I’m so worried about him, Mikey.”</p><p>When he found the strength to look back up at Mike, there was a grim set to his lips, and Eddie’s stomach turned at the sight. </p><p>“I have an idea,” Mike said slowly. “But you won’t like it.” </p><p>“Tell me,” he said immediately, the horrible pang in his stomach be damned. </p><p>Mike sighed and pulled his hand off Eddie’s arm to run it across the back of his neck. </p><p>“Okay, so, did Richie ever tell you about Katie?”</p><p>“Katie who?”</p><p>“I guess that’s a no.” </p><p>Eddie blinked at him, then glanced back at Stan, creeping ever closer to bursting out and infiltrating the discussion. He didn’t know why he felt so adamant about Mike being the only one to know how his lungs ached when he thought about Richie’s quietness. Maybe because he’d seen the side of Richie that Mike brought out, one that was vulnerable and willing. Maybe Eddie thought if Richie wasn’t talking to <em>him</em>, Mike was the only other person who stood a chance. </p><p>“Katie was his first girlfriend,” Mike went on. “It wasn’t anything like it is with you, but he liked her, you know?”</p><p>“Okay?” </p><p>“So, when she found out about his heart, she got all protective. Started worrying about him, checking in on him, crying when he got bad news from the doctors.” </p><p>“Okay?” Eddie urged again, panic rising. “I don’t understand, Mike. He’s got a bad heart. How is being protective over him a bad thing?”</p><p>“Because that’s not <em>Richie</em>,” Mike said emphatically. “Richie doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want people fussing over him.” </p><p>A cold bolt of lightning shot through Eddie. Holy…holy fuck… His mind raced back to that night at the drive-in, his frantic hands scrabbling over Richie’s pain-taut body. His mother’s hands. </p><p>Had he been treating Richie like his <em>mother</em> treats him? </p><p>Eddie’s stomach rolled. He felt dizzy with it. </p><p>Mike went on, “And more than people fussing over him, he doesn’t want people to <em>worry</em> about him. If he knows that the thought of him being sick is hurting you, he’s gonna do something dumb.”</p><p>“Dumb?” Eddie echoed, feeling dumb himself. Dumb and aching to the core with the hollow sickness Richie’s heart made him feel. Everything in him revolted against the idea of treating Richie the way his own mother treated him, like he was fragile and brittle. </p><p>There was the distant, gnawing thought that he didn’t know any other way to love Richie. He’d never learned to love apart from his mother. </p><p>“Yeah,” Mike said, his voice sounding flat and hesitant. “He, uh…He eventually broke it off with Katie.” </p><p>Eddie’s eyes snapped up to Mike’s. Wide. Horrified. </p><p>“What? Why?”</p><p>“He just said he ‘didn’t want to put her through it’.” </p><p>Eddie’s stomach rolled again and again. The din of the cafeteria was suddenly very loud and very close. </p><p>“What do I <em>do</em>, Mike?” Eddie whimpered once his ears stopped ringing enough to speak.  He felt like he was being ripped apart inside. He wanted with everything in him to keep Richie safe from harm, and by the same token, he knew he could never separate his love for Richie from his worry for him. It was immutable, and he was drowning in how sick it made him feel to know that he could never love Richie the way he wanted to be loved. </p><p>And to know that his worry wasn’t, at the end of the day, entirely unfounded. </p><p>“I don’t know how to help him," Eddie whispered after a beat. "I don’t know how to keep him safe without pushing him away.”</p><p>Mike reached back out, and his hand settling into Eddie’s felt like a weight anchoring him to shore. He clutched it like a lifeline. </p><p>“You have to trust him to keep himself safe,” Mike murmured. “And you have to love him through it. Love him enough not to let it show how scared you are.”</p><p>Eddie gripped Mike’s hand tighter, tighter, until he was sure he was crushing Mike’s hand. But Mike didn’t let it show. He hid the pain, and loved Eddie. </p><p>“Goddamn it,” Eddie breathed, letting go all at once and letting his head fall onto his forearms. </p><p>His hands shook the rest of the day, and when Mike drove him home in silence, he repeated the words back to himself like a mantra. </p><p>
  <em>Love him enough not to let it show how scared you are.</em>
</p><p>Eddie tried. He really did. The next time he saw Richie, he acted like he wasn’t afraid at all, forced himself to stop staring at Richie in the quiet moments, tried to still the crashing instinct in him to <em>fix it, fix it.</em></p><p>And slowly, it began to work. </p><p>As Halloween drew closer, Richie emerged from his tired smog to grin at them like the Cheshire Cat over their cafeteria-sanctioned lunch of paper-thin hamburger patties and potato wedges. </p><p>“Boys,” he said, drawing up the heads of Bill and Stan, who were both curled over Bill’s French homework looking glad for the interruption. Mike and Eddie also looked over Richie, and once Richie saw that he had all eyes on him, his grin seemed to double. </p><p>“I propose we host a Losers-only Halloween bash,” Richie said. </p><p>Bill’s mouth quirked up into a grin. </p><p>“Can you r-r-really call it a ‘bash’ if there’s only s-s-seven of us?” he asked, but Richie waved him off. </p><p>“Pssh, of course. A party’s not about the quantity of its partiers but rather, the quality of its partiers.” </p><p>“What are you thinking, Rich?” Mike asked, leaning forward with bright eyes. Richie’s gaze swung to him and turned mischievous. </p><p>“What are the odds that your grandpa would let us use the old barn?” he asked, earning a single cocked eyebrow from Mike. </p><p>“I already don’t like where this is going,” Mike intoned, but it was lost to the sun of Richie’s grin. Eddie basked in it for just a moment, grinning back just because he could. </p><p>Just like their bonfire, Richie took care of wrangling the troops and supplies needed to pull off such a “bash”. </p><p>On the Friday, the day before Halloween, he appeared haggard but triumphant, declaring that Mike’s barn had been appropriately redecorated—Eddie cringed at the thought—and that Bev and Ben would be there, though both on-call for any Halloween-related emergencies at the hospital. Then, he scratched out that Cheshire’s grin and pitched his voice low, just for them. </p><p>“One of the guys in my government class hooked us up with some brownies,” he said, patting the zipper of his backpack with the hand that wasn’t wrapped around Eddie’s thigh. </p><p>All around the table, studded confusion was the look. </p><p>“The <em>edible</em> kind,” Richie said, bouncing his eyebrows a few times. </p><p>Then, the table, for the most part, seemed to <em>get it</em>, a spike of adrenaline/fear pushing through Eddie himself. He’d never been around pot. It wasn’t one of the drugs on his mother’s list of crazy growing up, and it certainly wasn’t part of his post-gazebos regimen. </p><p>There was something of a wall in his mind that he couldn’t quite seem to hurdle over in that instant. He recognized that marijuana had nothing to do with his mother, but still. The association was there, both in the shrill lessons she’d tried to impose on him about good boys not doing drugs and in the monster-handfuls of sugar-drugs she’d shoved onto him as a kid. He didn’t want to take the drugs just to spite her, but he wanted to do the drugs just to spite her, too. It was a delicate act, even now that things were mostly okay at home. </p><p>He swallowed a bit and turned his attention to his friends. </p><p>Eddie saw Stan’s eyebrows shoot up under the curl of his bangs, but he looked impressed and a little excited alongside the shock. Mike wore a cool look of disinterest, but he shrugged a bit. Bill, however, still wore that bemused expression. </p><p>“I mean, I h-h-hope they’re edible?” he said, so genuine, so clueless, that a quick choke of laughter tore out of Eddie before he could stop it. Quick on the heels of his single burst of amusement, Mike and Richie and Stan were all laughing, with Bill looking confusedly between them all. “What? W-w-what’s so funny, a-a-assholes?” </p><p>Stan laid a hand on his forearm and grinned brightly at him.</p><p>“He means they’re pot brownies, honey,” he said, and the flush that consumed Bill’s face came on so quick Eddie thought it was a wonder he didn’t pass out from it. </p><p>“Oh,” Bill said limply, grinning a little bashfully. </p><p>“God, you’re so adorable it makes me sick,” Stan murmured, barely loud enough for anyone but Bill to hear, but it reminded Eddie of the day—felt like a lifetime ago, now—that the three of them had jumped at the quarry. It made Eddie happy to see how warm they were with one another, and he was glad that, evidently, whatever had been the issue when he’d been sick with the flu—fucking <em>thanks</em>, Richard—had resolved itself. </p><p>Eddie felt a little guilty for only just now thinking of that, but he’d been swept up in the whirlwind of his own relationship. He and Richie were still coasting in the honeymoon phase and were (probably) grossly co-dependent, but he wanted to stay there for as long as possible. </p><p>“So, are you guys in?” Richie asked, drawing the conversation back to the Halloween party, such that it was. </p><p>“Yeah,” Stan said, surprising Eddie with the utter lack of hesitation. Bill also nodded quickly, but Mike shook his head. </p><p>“My grandpa will kill me if he finds out I did pot,” Mike said, but he didn’t look too disappointed, and the Losers weren’t really ones for peer pressure. All heads swung to Eddie then, not pressuring, just curious, and he squirmed a bit.</p><p>“Uh,” he started, glancing around at his friends. When his eyes landed on Richie, they were waiting and warm, ready for whatever he said. Even though he still didn’t really <em>know</em>, he felt calm. He felt a delayed answer was still an answer. “Can we circle back?” he asked, and Richie shrugged, smiling a bit.</p><p>“Sure, babe,” he said amiably, squeezing Eddie’s knee, and just like that, the conversation rolled on, now excitedly chattering about whether or not costumes should be included in their night. </p><p>Richie was very much pro-costume—to the surprise of exactly no one—but pretty much everyone else at their table was giving him a hard time for waiting until the day before Halloween to spring the costume question on them. </p><p>“It’s Halloween!” Richie argued, throwing his hands up. “I kinda thought it was a given!” </p><p>“You just want an excuse to wear your Catwoman costume again,” Stan said dryly, his eyes sparkling. </p><p>“One,” Richie started, ticking up a finger. “Do I seem like the kind of guy to rewear on Halloween? No. No, I do not. Two, I looked damn good in that costume, Staniel, and you know it.” </p><p>The conversation devolved from there. </p><p>By the time Halloween actually came around, Eddie had made a decision neither about a costume or about the edibles. He’d spent the majority of the early evening doling out candy to trick-or-treaters before passing the task off to his mother—knowing damn well how little of the candy would probably actually make it to the kids before she turned off the porch light and decided that having strangers crowing for sweets on her doorstep was dangerous, full-stop. </p><p>He’d just breached the top of the stairs, ready to tear through his closet and find whatever last-minute costume he could scrape together, when his mother’s voice rang up from below. </p><p>“Eddie! There’s a young man in a dress here to see you,” she called, her voice holding just enough sourness to make Eddie roll his eyes. He turned on his heels to start back down the stairs when he heard Richie’s soft laugh. </p><p>“Ever the pleasure, Mrs. K.,” he said cheekily, and Eddie grinned to himself, even as he heard his mother huff back into the living room. </p><p>When he turned the landing for a clear view of Richie, his grin nearly doubled. Sure enough, he was wearing a long-sleeved black dress that fell to the floor, save for a side-slit that cut clean up to the barely-visible hem of his boxers, a waist-length black wig that parted straight over his nose, artfully shadowed eye make-up (no glasses in sight), and a blood-red lipstick. He looked damn good, all cheekbone and jaw, and Eddie <em>wanted</em>, fuck, did he ever. </p><p>“Wow,” Eddie breathed, taking the last few stairs jaggedly. More than what he was wearing, though, was the cock-sure grin Richie was giving him. </p><p>“I told you I look hot in a dress, Eds,” he said, raising his arms a bit and cocking one of his hips so the fabric arched into his waist. </p><p>“I’m not sure at all who you’re supposed to be, but I like it,” Eddie said, reaching out and settling his hands over the silky seams at Richie’s ribs. (Part of him figured it would be his only chance to see what a dress felt like under his fingers. Another part of him really thought that it wouldn’t, now seeing for himself Richie’s penchant for cross-dressing on Halloween.)</p><p>All at once, Richie’s showy posture deflated, and his arms slapped against his sides, elbows knocking into Eddie’s still-flexing knuckles. </p><p>“Seriously?” Richie asked, half-way between exasperated and horrified. His eyes were wide, even without his glasses, and dark. “Morticia Addams!” </p><p>Eddie lifted a shoulder, and the horror grew on Richie’s face. </p><p>“Oh my God. Eddie, baby, man of my dreams, light of my life, fire of my loins—” Eddie giggled at this one, which made Richie’s already disbelieving eyebrow quirk upward. “Seriously? <em>Lolita</em> is what does it for you?” he asked, and seeing the clear bewilderment on Eddie’s face, he shook his head. “Never mind, it’s this book about a pedophile. Anyway, Eddie. How the fuck have you never seen <em>The Addams Family</em>? Heard of it? Seen the show, read the comics, anything?!” </p><p>Eddie grinned again, shifting his hands around Richie’s waist until he locked them on his own elbows, Richie caught snug between them as he craned up and back to see him. </p><p>“Sorry,” he said, not feeling very sorry at all, as it were. Richie was too adorable, pouting with his red lipstick. </p><p>“We shall rectify this at first opportunity,” Richie swore, circling his arms around Eddie’s shoulders and squeezing him. “But for now, where is your costume, Edward?” </p><p>Eddie pulled away and laughed, eyes wide.</p><p>“Oh, ‘Edward,’ now is it?” </p><p>“Well, I was hoping you might go for Gomez instead,” Richie said, grinning and tossing him a wink. </p><p>“You recognize I don’t know who that is, either, right?” Eddie asked, and Richie nodded solemnly. </p><p>“It breaks my heart, but yes. Lucky for you, I come bearing gifts.” Before Eddie had time to get suspicious, Richie leaned down and plucked a plastic shopping bag Eddie hadn’t noticed out of the entryway and presented it out to him. “I got this for four dollars and thirty cents at a thrift shop, so someone definitely died in it, but Gomez would be proud.” </p><p>Eddie felt his face squinch in horror, but Richie only laughed and pinched his cheek. </p><p>“God, you’re adorable,” he crooned, and Eddie felt the scrape of long finger nails against his cheek, reminding him for a sickening second of those Christmases they’d spent in Boston with his horrible aunt before she’d gone and died. They always used to pinch his cheeks, the bastards. When Eddie recoiled in further horror at the memory, he saw that Richie had press-on nails glued to every finger, and they were painted a red so vibrant that it matched his lips exactly. He grinned, upon Eddie noticing them. </p><p>“Go on,” Richie said, curling them teasingly at him. “Slick your hair back. I’m in the car when you’re done.” </p><p>“You’re a menace,” he said, taking the bag and moving for the bathroom off the stairs, though he was secretly pleased by not only the fact that he no longer had to fend for himself in the costume department, but also that Richie had seen fit to dress them in a <em>couples'</em> costume. Though, seeing as they <em>were</em> a couple, the notion really didn’t have any right to do to Eddie what it did. </p><p>Still, it set his chest alive with warmth, so much so that he barely noticed—or rather had a stronger resolve to vehemently ignore—the awful dead-air stench that drifted from the clothes once they were on him. He slicked his hair back, just like Richie had asked, and when he stood upright to look at himself, the man he saw was sleek and crisp-lined in a pin-striped suit, just as beautiful as Richie in his dress. He thought, for once in their lives, they made a fitting pair. </p><p>His mother gave him a spiel before he left, not that he was unused to those, but made a little more poignant by the fact that he still hadn’t decided what to do about the edibles once they got to Mike’s. For the most part, he hummed and <em>yes, Mommy</em>’d his way through until she let him go with a promise that he’d call in the morning. </p><p>Truly, it was a wonder that she was allowing him to stay the night at Mike’s, someone that she’d never met, but he knew in his core that she couldn’t have stopped him, and he was sort of getting the feeling that she knew that, too. </p><p>Rather than the death-throes-proportion of a fit he’d always imagined her pitching when she realized how very little control she really held over his actions, she seemed to be quietly regressing into the kind of a mother he’d always dreamed of having. </p><p>It scared him a little, actually, but like so much of the swirling quiet suddenly in his life, he tried not to think about it. </p><p>Instead, he kissed her cheek, told her he’d call her in the morning, and bound out the door to meet back up with Richie. </p><p>He still didn’t have his truck, so he was leaned against the backdoor of Stan’s mom’s station wagon, talking to Bill through the rolled-down window with his legs stretched and arms crossed. He looked long and lean and surprisingly feminine in the dress, even with those broad shoulders. </p><p>When he could tear his eyes off Richie, Eddie saw Bill in the passenger’s seat. He had some sort of mask pushed up over his forehead, and he was laughing at something Richie was saying, Stan leaning over the console to join the discussion. Eddie could only see little flashes of their costumes in the low streetlight glow pouring down, but overall, what he saw was what he probably would have looked like if Richie hadn’t shown up with a costume for him. </p><p>They were half-assed, at best, a little face-cover over plainclothes. Though Eddie supposed, on any other day and without Morticia-Richie at his side, he’d just look like a guy with slicked hair wearing a suit. </p><p>The closer he got to the little trio, the easier it was to see that Bill’s mask was a grungy Punisher-esque thing (even though The Punisher didn’t actually wear a mask, just the skull on a t-shirt) and that he wore a long, black duster that was almost certainly his father’s. </p><p>Stan, however, looked down-right precious, even Eddie could see. He had a little black nose painted on the end of his own, and whiskers, and a curling black mouth that lifted from the corners of his lips. He was wearing dollar-store fur ears and even had little specks of brown doily-ed on his face, artfully outlined with crescent streaks of black, probably applied by Bill. His shirt was uniformly brown, but the idea was put across anyway. He was a leopard. Or perhaps a cheetah? Regardless, Eddie hoped to God that someone would be around tonight with a camera to capture exactly how priceless Stanley fucking Uris looked dressed as a giant cat. </p><p>Bill’s eyes flicked over to Eddie as he approached, and he whistled appreciatively. </p><p>“Damn, E-E-Eddie makes a good Gomez,” he said. </p><p>“Hands off, Denbrough,” Richie said faintly, his own eyes now stuck on Eddie. </p><p>“Yeah, hands off, Denbrough,” Stan repeated dryly, not that Eddie was paying much attention them. </p><p>Richie’s eyes were heavy on him and cuttingly sharp without his glasses as a buffer. He remembered the night of the dance, when Richie had shown up in his room, how exposed Eddie had felt standing under that uninhibited gaze. </p><p>He felt that now, too, but instead of the calculating, near-judging appraisal he’d imagined then—he could recognize it, in hindsight, as imagined from his own insecurity, given how crazy Richie had always been for him—it was the ravenous, aching intake of every detail on Eddie’s body. It lit Eddie up inside, seeing that look on Richie’s face. </p><p>Suddenly, that night at the drive-in, the scare it had given him, seemed very far away. </p><p>“The pants are a little big,” he said, shifting a bit and feeling the fire race up him as Richie’s eyes tracked the movement. </p><p>“Seriously?” Richie's voice sounded scandalized, and Eddie looked up, his eyes wide. Richie had him pressed against the whole lean length of his front before he could get a word out. “You’re literally gonna look like <em>that</em> dressed as Gomez Addams and expect me <em>not</em> to immediately rip your clothes off?” Richie’s hands clenched in the fabric of Eddie’s jacket, around his hips, tugged him close. Eddie grinned, feeling <em>wanted</em>, the way he always felt with Richie. </p><p>“Unacceptable.” Richie went on, kissing Eddie’s grinning mouth. “Take your shirt off right now.”</p><p>“Rich,” Eddie warned, even as his hands slid up to press against the exposed arc of his collarbones. </p><p>“Right now, mister. You’re giving me heart palpitations.”</p><p>“That’s not funny,” Eddie said, frowning. </p><p>Richie tugged him tighter against his front. “I’m not laughing.” </p><p>“Alright, get in the car before you start making out in the street,” Stan called through the window, causing an entirely new flush to consume Eddie. </p><p>“Such a cock-block,” Richie said, shooting Stan the bird without taking his eyes off Eddie. He kissed him once, soft, then withdrew his hands from Eddie with a love-sick groan and opened the backseat door. “After you, cara mia,” he said, in what Eddie could only assume was an impression from the movie. Eddie huffed a laugh as he moved past him into the car. </p><p>“Isn’t it supposed to be me opening the door for the lady?” he quipped, taking hold of Richie’s long-nailed hand as soon as he settled in beside him. Richie shrugged.</p><p>“Eh, I’m a dude rocking a dress, fuck gender norms.”</p><p>“Yeah, f-f-fuck gender norms,” Bill said from the front seat as he cranked his window back up and Stan started off in the direction of Mike’s house.</p><p>As soon as Stan had come to the end of the long gravel drive, Eddie realized it was probably a mistake to leave Richie in charge of decorating. The barn, tucked nearly to the tree-line behind Mike’s house, was lit with about two-dozen jack-o-lanterns, each casting long, yellow shadows up over the gauzy “cobwebs” strung from the rafters. </p><p>“That’s absolutely a fire hazard,” Stan said as the car snapped into park. </p><p>“Battery powered, my dude. I do use my brain occasionally," Richie said easily, barely pausing to let Stan get out what Eddie was sure would be a smart-ass remark. "Bev and Ben should be here soon, and I talked them into bringing pizzas."</p><p>Richie waggled his eyebrows, and though Eddie had seen him make that very facial gesture probably a hundred times, the addition of the eyeshadow and mascara made it strangely foreign. Eddie giggled, and Richie’s eyes swung around to him. </p><p>“What are you laughing at, Mr. Addams?” he asked. </p><p>“Nothing at all, Mrs. Addams,” Eddie said, grinning. He didn’t expect to be let off the hook easily, and he was already queueing up a series of jabs that began with Richie’s mother probably further blinding him as she helped with his contacts and ended with suggesting Nicole would need a new mascara brush after being contaminated with Richie’s eye germs. </p><p>But Richie just grinned and kissed him. </p><p>Eddie kissed back the way he always did, fervently, with all the feelings in his chest threatening to burst up out of him through the place where their lips joined. He remembered, only when his eyes landed on the now-mangled mess of Richie’s mouth as he pulled away, that Richie was wearing lipstick. </p><p>“Are you ready to go, my husband?” Richie murmured, his eyes locked steadily on Eddie’s. </p><p>That word, <em>husband</em>, rolling off Richie’s lips and into Eddie’s, poured through him like a glass of warm milk. It settled in his stomach with a faintly dazed certainty. </p><p><em>Yes,</em> he thought, smiling dreamily at Richie. <em>I’ll be your husband someday.</em></p><p>“Of course, my husband,” Eddie said back, when he found his voice in the soupy puddle of his insides. He leaned forward and kissed Richie again, softer this time, though now entirely uncaring of the smear of Richie’s lipstick across both their mouths. It occurred to him a bit too late that Richie was dressed as Morticia, and Morticia was Gomez’s <em>wife</em>. </p><p>Honestly, Eddie didn’t have the shame necessary within him to regret his Freudian slip. Not when it came to the way he felt about Richie. Not anymore. Not at all with the way Richie was smiling back at him, soft and sweet. </p><p>Just then, two more sets of headlights swung into Mike’s drive in quick succession. One of them was a bright green two-door with Bev waving from the driver’s side, and the other was a midnight-colored, canvas-topped Jeep. Ben jumped out of it with a grin as soon as the engine cut, his arms laden with pizza boxes. He was wearing his scrubs, but he did have a smear of fake-blood dripping down his chin, and when he got close with his grin, Eddie could see plastic fangs stuck to his incisors. When he spoke, his voice lisped a little with the over-bearing teeth.</p><p>“Hey guys,” he said to Mike—dressed in a simple but handsomely recognizable Marty McFly costume—Bill, and Stan, all of whom had wandered nearer the barn sometime after Eddie and Richie started trying to swallow the other’s tongue. Richie dragged a quick thumb through the lipstick on Eddie’s lower lip, then gasped a little. </p><p>“Oh, I almost forgot!” he said, dipping down to dig through the backpack at his feet. When he came back out, he was brandishing a small eyeliner pencil. “The finishing touch for my husband,” he said. His voice dropped almost reverential with the word, making Eddie burn again. </p><p>Still, he tilted his face up jovially and sat as still as possible while Richie drew sharp strikes of what Eddie assumed was a mustache over his upper lip. (He’d kill him if there were dicks on his face next time he got to a mirror.) Richie nodded approvingly, tucked the eyeliner back into his bag, and climbed out of the car, only to be immediately met by piercing wolf-whistles from Bev as she approached. </p><p>“Yowza!” she cried, bringing her hands up to her face as though to frame Richie. He struck a few obligatory poses, grinning, and Eddie watched from the frame of his own open door, feeling so full and happy that it was dizzying. “I think you look better in a dress than <em>I</em> do,” she went on, propping her hands on her hips. She was wearing her scrubs, too. Hadn’t even gone for Ben’s easy-as-fuck costume, and she did so looking wholly unapologetic. Eddie sort of loved her. </p><p>Richie scoffed.</p><p>“I <em>know</em> I look better in a dress than you do, Marsh,” he quipped, tearing a bright, joyous laugh out of Bev. </p><p>“Listen here, Tozier,” she started, her eyes sparkling with mirth. Ben was grinning down at her, and Mike, Stan, and Bill were watching, amused and warm as Richie got aggressively more provocative with the poses he struck. </p><p>Much like that night in under the stars while the bonfire crackled around them, Eddie was struck by the notion of how <em>right</em> the seven of them were. </p><p>“Oh! Eds!” Richie called, his voice easily carrying the little way over to where Eddie still sat, watching it all unfold. He waved Eddie over with a billow-sleeved arm, and once Eddie was out in the moonlight and slowly flickering faux-candles, Bev let out another piercing wolf-whistle, doubled by the wetter but equally enthusiastic whistle from Richie. </p><p>“Gomez and Morticia,” Ben said appreciatively, even as Bev snickered. </p><p>“Well, now at least I know why Morticia’s lipstick is all smeared to shit,” she said, grinning. Richie booed at her.</p><p>“My sister worked hard on this make-up!”</p><p>“And it’s all gone to waste,” Stan cut in, one corner of his mouth tipped up. </p><p>“I don’t personally see sharing my lipstick with Eddie as a waste, Stanny,” Richie said, slinging an arm around Eddie’s shoulders and proceeding to smack another lipsticky kiss against his temple before grinning. “I’m a philanthropist. What can I say?” </p><p>“I’ve got some sodas, if anyone’s thirsty,” Mike said, waving behind him towards the barn and meaning, effectively, <em>Let’s get this party fuckin’ started!</em> </p><p>But you know, in the relatively level language of Mike Hanlon. Either way, Eddie had a feeling it was going to be a good night.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry to cut this off right as the fun's just beginning (ehh? ehh?? anybody???) but Halloween ended up covering three friggin' chapters so...</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Chapter 18</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Halloween continues Happening, and the Losers commune with the dead.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tws: recreational drug use (marijuana edibles), a bad high, panic attack</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div>
  <p>
  
    <em>October ‘93</em>
 
</p>
</div><p>The barn, for the most part, looked exactly as one might expect a barn to look. Yes, there were dirt-covered, wooden floors, exposed rafters, unfinished walls, and even an honest-to-God haybale in one corner. It smelled, though only vaguely, of wet, wild animal, and seemed to double the October chill in the air. </p><p>Gooseflesh rashed out across Richie’s exposed collarbone as soon as they stepped inside, and Eddie, the angel that he was, immediately began unbuttoning his own jacket and passed it to him, Addams family aesthetic be damned. Not that Richie wasn’t thrilled to squeeze into Eddie’s jacket. It mostly still smelled like the run-down thrift store he’d gotten it from, but if Richie held his nose right against the collar and closed his eyes, Eddie was there, warm and soft and minty. </p><p>It was a struggle to tear his thoughts—and nose—away from Eddie’s smell to appreciate the barn, and more, to appreciate his friends’ reaction to the barn. He and Mike had spent one hell of a summer a few years back scraping out petrified cow shit and various other farm-like odds and ends in order to get it to where it was. </p><p>Well, it was mostly Mike, what with Richie’s bum heart and all, but he chose to believe that his overall delightful aura helped the process along. </p><p>For all the parts of the barn that were very stereotypical, Richie and Mike had made the place <em> theirs</em>. One side of the long room held their various Halloween-related activities, pumpkin carving, apple bobbing, Ouija boarding, the like. The other side, however, was a blood-sweat-tear-earned lounge space. String lights pitched up around the rafters, setting aglow the—admittedly ugly—deep green couch he and Mike had hauled in from his grandparents’ attic. Catty-corner to the couch Richie <em>still</em> wasn’t sure how they’d managed to get in and out of the attic in the first place was a pair of mismatched sitting chairs Richie absolutely would not admit to Eddie he’d gotten off the roadside, and strung up just behind that was the pièce de résistance. The hammock. </p><p>Ben smiled as he took in their well-loved haven. </p><p>“Reminds me of a clubhouse I built when I was a kid,” he mumbled, and Richie wheeled around, eyes wide.</p><p>“Excuse me, did you say <em>built</em>?” he asked incredulously. </p><p>Ben flashed a hot red and dipped his head. “Yeah, well. Not that I had many friends to share it with,” he said, clearly trying to shrug the attention off. </p><p>Richie was not fucking having it. </p><p>“Jesus Christ, Ben. How is it fair that you look like <em>that</em>, you save lives, you know how to build shit, <em>and</em> you’re adorably bashful about it?!” Richie exclaimed, leaning a heavy arm onto Eddie and tugging him close. “I swear, if I wasn’t so hopelessly lost on my lil Eds here—”</p><p>“Little, my ass,” Eddie grumbled, true to form, pinching Richie’s hip a bit. </p><p>“—I’d be tripping all over myself with how grossly endearing you are,” Richie finished with a flourish. Though he was delighting in the crimson racing across Ben’s face, he was even more delighted in the thoughtful appraisal Bev was making of Ben, a small smile on her lips. </p><p>“Stop teasing him, Richie,” she said, but she was smirking, and Richie had a good feeling about whatever was fumbling between them. </p><p>He grinned at her and relented. </p><p>“Well, what do you guys want to do first?” he asked. “Pumpkin carving? Spooky movie marathon?” </p><p>“How does this place e-e-even have electricity?” Bill asked, raising an eyebrow at the dozens or so jack-o’-lanterns flickering around the room. Richie grinned.</p><p>“It does not,” he said cheerfully, kicking a leg out towards the bundle of extension cords that ran out from Mike’s back door. </p><p>“Richie said they lent to the creepy aesthetic,” Mike said, rolling his eyes a bit. “<em>I </em>said they were a tripping hazard.” </p><p>“They’re like spooky little snakes,” Richie defended. “Besides, they’re against the wall!”</p><p>“Still, watch your step,” Mike said to the group at large, to which everyone nodded.</p><p>“Well, it looks great, you guys,” Ben said, still slowly fading back to his usual non-cherry color. He nudged a few uncarved pumpkins aside on the table and set down the pizza boxes he’d been holding. </p><p>“Oh!” Richie said, suddenly remembering the brownies he’d tucked away earlier and pulling them out. “And there’s these babies for dessert.” He jiggled the little Ziploc bag in time with his wiggling eyebrows. </p><p>The Losers who had already known about the brownies nodded a bit, but Ben and Bev traded a concerned look that Richie certainly did not like the looks of. That sick, twisting feeling sliced through him, and he felt himself shrink a bit, doubly so when Bev cleared her throat and shifted her weight.</p><p>“Rich, uh…are you sure that’s a good idea?” she asked, locking eyes with him meaningfully. Despite how small he felt, he pushed his chin forward. </p><p>“They’re illegal for everyone, not just minors,” he said stubbornly. </p><p>“That’s not what I mean.”</p><p>“I know what you mean,” Richie said, leveling her with a silencing look. Her mouth snapped shut, but her eyes were hard. “It’s fine. I can make my own decisions.” </p><p>She huffed out a breath and looked away. </p><p>“Yeah, just wish they weren’t dumb decisions,” she muttered, and he had to fight the urge to snap at her. She didn’t get it. Couldn't. His life was being <em>ripped</em> away from him, and if one night of stealing it back and taking control killed him, then at least he’d have died <em>living</em>. </p><p>Instead, he just pushed out a steadying breath and tossed the brownies onto the table beside the pizza. </p><p>“There’s plates,” he said stiffly and moved out of the way for his friends to dig in. They kept their eyes on him for a moment, but when they realized he wasn’t meeting any of their gazes, they shifted and began quietly making plates. </p><p>Richie leaned against the wall, watching, hating himself, hating the curtain of darkness that had suddenly fallen over the room. It was supposed to be a party, for fuck’s sake, a night to just have fun with his friends while he still could and not fucking think about how little time he’d have to do so. </p><p>Bev parted quietly from the group and made her way over to him. He didn’t look at her as she leaned against the wall beside him and cast her voice low. </p><p>“You okay?” she asked, only for him to hear. </p><p>He huffed and glared out at their friends, stacking pizzas and sodas and chatting. </p><p>“No,” he said. “Just wanted to not think about it for one night.” </p><p>“I know,” she said. She leaned a bit and let her head fall on his shoulder. “You deserve that. I shouldn’t have said anything.” </p><p>Richie wanted to stay mad. He did, but he knew it wasn’t fair. His heart left them all in shitty positions, and she was just trying to look out for him. </p><p>“Dr. Warner told you?” he asked after a beat, glancing down at her. </p><p>Now, it was her who was refusing to meet his eyes, but he didn’t really need her to. The sad, down-turn of her lip gave it all away, and he looked back towards Eddie, who was grinning with Mike over a particularly goofy pumpkin he and Richie had carved the day before. </p><p>“I haven’t told them,” Richie murmured, and he felt her turn to look up at him. When he relented and looked down at her, she had the dark sweep of his wig obscuring half her face.</p><p>“Not even Eddie?” </p><p>The question was like a lance through his chest. He didn’t feel good about keeping things from Eddie. He knew they were supposed to be a team, no secrets, open communication and all that. But he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. Eddie had been so happy lately, so soft. Richie, more than he hated keeping things from Eddie, hated hurting him with the truth. </p><p>“Especially not Eddie..." </p><p>Bev considered him for a long, silent moment. When she finally breathed out a sigh, he felt it ghost over his skin. </p><p>“What are we gonna do about you, Rich?” she asked, staring up at him like she really expected an answer. He smiled a bit and shrugged. </p><p>“Run, if you’re smart,” he said, but she didn’t smile. Didn’t even flinch, just wrapped an arm around his waist and squeezed.</p><p>“Just…Go easy on the pot, yeah?” </p><p>He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Sure, Bevvy.” </p><p>She pushed up to press a quick kiss to his cheek, and then, they peeled off the wall to claim their own pizza. </p><p>Richie tried to shake the cloud off him while they settled around the lounge and ate, forcing himself to laugh at Ben bobbing for apples and coming up unsuccessful like a drowned cat, until it became more genuine. He took his wig off when it was his own turn and draped it over a winking jack-o’-lantern, turned it towards Eddie. Eddie grinned, even as he rolled his eyes, and the dark curtain lifted, just a bit. </p><p>His bob, like Ben’s, was unsuccessful, but it brought Eddie over to thumb away the mascara running down his cheeks, so he counted it as a win anyway, doubly so when Eddie lowered himself to his knees next to the bobbing bucket and came up with water glistening down his neck and an apple clamped between his perfect lips. </p><p>After everyone finished eating, they passed around the brownies. Richie took half of one and, ignoring Bev’s surreptitious glances his way, swallowed it down. He offered the other half to Eddie, who gave it a panicked blink before he set his jaw and slid it out of Richie’s hand. </p><p>“You don’t have to,” Richie said around the brownie crumbs still in his mouth, but Eddie just shook his head. </p><p>“I want to.” Then, he brought it to his lips and took a huge bite. </p><p>Mike maintained his polite decline, and Ben and Bev added two more negatives to the pile since they were on call. Bill and Stan, however, split one, and the four of them sat back and stared at each other. </p><p>“I don’t f-f-feel anything,” Bill said, a full second after he’d swallowed his last bite. He was sitting on the floor with his back pressed to Stan’s knees. </p><p>Bev, splayed across one of the armchairs with her empty pizza plate resting on her stomach, grinned devilishly at him. </p><p>“Give it half an hour and check back,” she said. </p><p>Richie was similarly splayed across the opposite recliner, his legs dangling over the armrest, but he had the advantage of his ass being nestled sideways between the legs of a very warm Eddie Spaghetti, cradled against his chest with his hands linked over Richie’s hip. Richie saw a flash of panic flit across Eddie’s face, and he squeezed his forearm. </p><p>“How are you feeling there, Spagheds?” he asked. </p><p>Eddie’s eyes swept off Bill to narrow at Richie, so Richie knew he would be fine. </p><p>“Don’t call me that.” </p><p>“Sure, babe,” Richie said easily, sinking down and pressing himself closer to Eddie’s chest. </p><p>“Can we start with <em>Beetlejuice</em>?” Mike asked, still kneeling in front of the small TV they’d dragged in and connected to the power strip. They’d also brought in a small space heater that was coughing out warmth at a safe distance from other flammables, but it was hardly enough. The only thing that kept Richie from outright shivering with his still-wet hair and shit circulation was the solid heat of Eddie wrapped around him. </p><p>“I love that movie,” Stan said, smiling as he pushed a seemingly absent hand through Bill’s hair. </p><p>“Oh, me too!” Bev said, straightening up and swiveling her chair so that it faced the TV. </p><p>Richie felt warm and content with the family he’d built for himself sitting there, all smiling soft at one another. </p><p>“No objections?” Mike asked, and when everyone shook their heads, he popped the movie into the VCR and settled onto the end of the couch beside Ben, straightening his orange puffer vest around him as the tape clicked into place. </p><p>Some twenty minutes later, as Catherine O’Hara traipsed around the house with a can of spray-paint, Eddie began to giggle. It started soft, just one little puff of air that got buried in Richie’s shoulder blade. Then, a few moments later, a spring of giggles burst from those lips, and even though he tried again to bury them in Richie’s body, their friends turned to look at him, all with some measure of amusement on their faces. </p><p>Eddie, however, was only looking at Richie, grinning lazily with his big doe eyes half-lidded. </p><p>“I feel weird, Rich,” he said. Across the couch, Bev pressed a button on her watch and held it to eye-level.</p><p>“Twenty-three minutes,” she said, grinning. “You’re all next.” </p><p>Richie winked at Eddie and settled back against him. He continued giggling, eventually moving from Richie’s shoulder blade to the juncture of his neck, which soon turned to him running his lips gently over the skin there, humming happily as a shiver shook through Richie.</p><p>“What’s it feel like?” Richie whispered, turning his head just slightly. Eddie raised up and smiled broadly at him. </p><p>“It’s like…” he paused, considering, then grinning again. “It’s like the world’s skipping,” he said. “A bad CD.” </p><p>Richie kissed his nose in reply, not entirely sure what Eddie meant but liking seeing him so carefree. Before Richie could get too far away, Eddie leaned forward and took his lips. </p><p>“Wanna kiss you,” he mumbled against Richie’s mouth.</p><p>“We <em>are</em> kissing, idiot,” Richie said back, grinning, before swiping his tongue against Eddie’s. </p><p>Richie, consumed by Eddie’s mouth, had stopped watching the movie all together. His friends, it seemed, had not. </p><p>“Was this m-m-movie always so trippy?” Bill asked, and when Richie managed to tear himself away from Eddie, he <em>got it. </em></p><p>The world skipped. </p><p>Richie turned his head slowly, and every time his eyes moved, it was like reality had turned into a flipbook with the pages turned not <em>quite</em> fast enough. </p><p>“Whoa,” Richie said, lifting a hand and staring at the lag of his fingers as he wiggled them. </p><p>“Aaand that’s twenty-eight for Bill and Richie,” Bev said. Her watch beeped, and Richie’s head whipped around. </p><p>The room spun with it, and he dipped. </p><p>“I feel like I’m asleep,” Richie said, and he did. It was like he wasn’t quite tethered to the world around him, like reality was buried under a crystal glaze. </p><p>Eddie giggled again, and the sound startled and delighted Richie so much that he whipped around to stare at him, grinning as he waited for the room to catch back up. When it settled, Richie let out a laugh too. </p><p>“I forgot about your mustache, Mr. Addams,” Richie said, thumbing over it. </p><p>“Oh, heh. Me too,” Eddie said. “You’ve still got make-up all over your face.” </p><p>“Am I pretty?” Richie fluttered his eyelashes, then grimaced as his contacts rolled. </p><p>“The prettiest,” Eddie answered, dipping forward to kiss him again. </p><p>Richie’s brain skittered around as they kissed. One of Eddie’s palms was warm and solid against his ribcage, and the other curved against his jaw, keeping him close, but it wasn't quite enough to keep him anchored. Richie was trying valiantly to convince himself that it was real, that Eddie’s lips on his <em>weren’t</em> just a surreal dream. </p><p>(He’d had dreams about kissing Eddie before. Nice dreams.)</p><p>All at once, Richie lost the battle of trying to convince himself that the perfection of that moment was something he could have in reality, and he pulled away, pouting. </p><p>“I wanna kiss you for real,” he said, but fake-Eddie just laughed. </p><p>“If we kiss any more for real, we’re gonna have to kick everyone out of the barn,” Eddie answered, his grin gummy. </p><p>Richie shook his head. “No," he said, "This isn’t real. I’m dreaming." </p><p>Then, all at once, he remembered some half-buried article he’d read on how someone could test if they were lucid dreaming. Apparently, if you just <em>will</em> your dream hard enough, whatever you want can become a reality. </p><p>He glared down at his hands, insisting that one of his fingers disappear so he’d know for sure that he wasn’t awake, that he wasn’t sitting in the lap of the most beautiful boy who’d ever loved him. His fingers stayed ten, and when he glanced back up at fake-Eddie, his doe eyes were so full of awe, entranced by Richie’s fingers, that he <em>knew</em> he was dreaming. </p><p>Richie, <em>convinced</em> that if he wanted it hard enough, he could force his arm to float right through Eddie’s chest, shot his hand out towards the buttons of Eddie’s shirt. </p><p>...and smashed solidly against them. Eddie let out a yelp, and then Richie, remembering all at once that he was high and not at all dreaming, doubled over, laughing until tears were streaming out. </p><p>“I, I—” he wheezed. “I thought my h—hand would go through.” </p><p>He was laughing so hard he could barely breathe, and the sounds of Bill and Stan cackling floated through to him. </p><p>“Jesus, you slapped me in the tit!” Eddie howled, tears streaking down his own face as he laughed. </p><p>Which, of course, just set Richie off all over again, and by the end of it, all four of them were gasping for air while the other three were alternating between fond chuckles and teasingly cranking the volume on the TV. </p><p>In fact, it was the blaring TV volume that finally tore Richie out of his laughing fit. Or, more specifically, it was what was happening on the blaring television that stole his attention. </p><p>“Oh my God!” he shouted, jumping up out of Eddie's lap as Betelgeuse began his commercial in the attic. Richie knew every line, choreography and all, and suddenly, screaming every word along in his best Texan accent, flailing a fake lasso was his sole mission in life. </p><p>Stan barely let him get through half of it before he was launching throw pillows at him. (One of which landed in the apple bobbing tub; Mike did not appreciate this.) </p><p>Richie finished with a hoarse howl at the moon, just as in the commercial, and then he collapsed back into Eddie’s lap, feeling more alive than he’d ever felt in his life. </p><p>He sat giggling through the drawing of the door and Stan’s aborted glares at him, but when the couple made their way into the waiting room of the dead, Richie found himself being whiplashed back into darkness so fast his head spun. His heart gave a painful thud. </p><p>The thought came up involuntarily, and it ached as it went through him.</p><p><em>I’m in the waiting room, too</em>, he thought, and with that, his heart suddenly ratcheted up its speed. The sound roared through Richie's ears, tictictictictictictictic, so loud it was hard to breathe. Eddie held him, and for the first time, it wasn't enough. </p><p>He sat very quietly through the rest of the movie with his hands clenched around his frantic pulse, even during the really funny bit with the possession dance-party and even when Bill staggered back over to the pizza boxes and passed them around. Richie took a slice and ate it, trying very much not to think about being dead. The only proof he had that he wasn't already, as far as he was concerned, was the manic, insistent, hummingbird-thrum of his heart. </p><p>Sometime later, Richie watching the movie from some panicked place very far away in his mind, twin shrill beepings stunned him. When he glanced up, Ben and Bev were both frowning down at their pagers. </p><p>“Ah, shit. Sorry, guys,” Ben said, already pushing himself off the couch. “There’s been some kind of emergency in town. They need all hands on deck.” </p><p>Bev was gathering up her things, tossing trash, leaning to kiss each of the boys on their foreheads. </p><p>“Sorry, everyone. This was fun though!” She plopped an extra-long, slobbery kiss on Richie’s head, her eyes tracking his like she <em>knew</em> he was panicking inside. He forced himself to smile at her. “Say hello to the dead for me,” she said, still holding his gaze. </p><p>Richie’s heart <em>slammed</em>, and he flinched away from her. </p><p>“What?” he croaked, barely able to get his throat to work. When he could blink his way back into that moment, she was frowning at him with a deep furrow valleying her brows. </p><p>She kicked a foot out against the Ouija board. </p><p>“You guys not gonna play anymore?” she asked, and the air slowly started to pull back into his lungs. </p><p>“As long as Betelgeuse doesn’t hop out,” Mike said as he glanced away from the final scene, Winona Ryder levitating over the living room to “Banana Boat Song”. As soon as the first credits rolled, Mike flicked the TV off, settled on the dingy rug, and dragged the Ouija box out from behind Beverly’s ankle. </p><p>“Yeah, we’ve already got one obnoxious clown on our hands,” Stan said. He looked like he was trying for his usual level of cutting humor as he flicked his eyes to Richie, but the way he was giggling made it far from dry. </p><p>Besides, Richie sort of thought he was right. He <em>was</em> like Betelgeuse. Obnoxious, loud, dead. He forced up a smile and looked back at Bev. </p><p>“Take care of yourself, yeah?” she asked, and when he nodded, apparently not believing him, she turned her gaze to Eddie. “<em>You</em> take care of him for me, okay?” she asked, though there seemed to be very little request in her tone. </p><p>Eddie nodded dutifully anyway and hooked his chin over Richie’s shoulder. </p><p>“Bye, boys,” Bev said to the room at large, echoed almost immediately by Ben’s jovial wave. </p><p>The other remaining Losers made the various bemoaning sounds of reluctant goodbyes as Bev and Ben made their way out of the barn, but Richie’s throat felt dry and panicky. His heart skittered and trilled inside him, which only served to make his sudden anxiety coil tighter. </p><p>Maybe Bev had been right. Maybe the edibles were a bad idea…</p><p>“You playing, Rich?” Mike asked, nudging him, startling him. Richie’s heart went off like a bottle rocket in response, snapping out beats so fast it seemed like one long, continuous pulse. </p><p>He swallowed, refusing to acknowledge the panic. The panic would pass. His heart would slow. It would be fine. He could salvage the night, even without his resident medical professionals to make sure if he collapsed, he’d live. He could live on his own, thank you. </p><p>“Huh? Oh, yeah,” Richie said, blinking. He slithered down onto the rug, his knees nudging Mike’s as they folded. Eddie slid out next to him, finishing their small circle. </p><p>In the middle of the five of them, the center of their almost-pentagram, was the Ouija board. The thing, frankly, was a piece of junk. Richie had gotten it the day before at the same thrift store he’d bought Eddie’s costume. But still, he probably would have felt better if it had the aesthetic of a fresh-out-of-the-box, absolutely-not-haunted board game instead of a water-logged and scratch-faced spirit board. The thing looked like it had seen some shit.</p><p>It had seemed funny in the store. Now, Richie wasn’t so sure how keen he was to be talking to the dead, not when he was already so close. </p><p>“Does anyone actually believe in this stuff?” Richie asked, surprised to find his voice much steadier than he actually felt. Inside, he was wide-eyed and petrified, his heart a frantic, ominous pounding in his chest. Too fast. It was going too fast, and he desperately hoped that his friends all said no, that they could convince him that if they talked to the dead, the dead wouldn’t just decide to keep him, yank him over there into that waiting room to sit beside Betelgeuse. </p><p>“Not even a little,” Mike said quickly, and even though it was what Richie <em>needed</em> to hear, it didn’t calm him like he’d hoped it would. He swung his wild eyes to Stanley, who shrugged. </p><p>“I’m always unclear on the Jewish view of the afterlife,” he said, legs crossed neatly beneath them, staring down at the little planchette with a thin curiosity. “I don’t think that, if ghosts <em>are</em> real, they’ll be using a board game to talk to us, though.” </p><p>“You think it’d be Harry Belafonte instead?” Eddie asked, grinning at him. Stan sighed wistfully.</p><p>“A guy can dream,” he said, which was enough to send everybody but Richie into a round of snickering. Richie himself was still a little stuck on the notion of the dead reaching out and snatching him, and he was scared. The world skipped every time he moved his head, and Richie was half-convinced that he’d miss something lurking in the frames of the lagging seconds. </p><p>He turned to Eddie. </p><p>“Eds?” he asked. His voice was still steadier than he’d expected it to be, so Eddie didn’t look up from his scrutiny of a particularly brown, speckled stain covering the creepy little sun’s nose. </p><p>“It’s psychosomatic. Ideomotor,” Eddie said. He licked his thumb and scrubbed at the stain, making a face. </p><p>“M-m-meaning?” Bill asked, leaning forward, and Eddie shrugged. </p><p>“Meaning it’s bullshit. Gazebos,” Eddie said, raising his eyebrows meaningfully. Bill smiled a little and nodded. </p><p>“How do we s-s-start?” he asked, turning to Mike. </p><p>“Everyone touch the planchette,” Mike answered, reaching out and settling his fingertips over the wooden triangle, soon followed by three more sets of hands. Richie stared at the tiny gap they’d left for him, trying desperately to ignore his heart rolling like a machine gun. </p><p>He let out a tiny puff of air and leaned, settling his fingertips onto the wood between Eddie’s and Mike’s. </p><p>“Spirits,” Mike called in what Richie thought was probably an extra hokey tone, just for laughs. He drudged up a small smile but felt his blood run cold. “Spirits, are you there?” </p><p>Richie stared at their fifty fingertips, unblinking, unbreathing. </p><p>And nothing happened. </p><p>He felt his panic inch away the smallest amount, but just as he’d started to let out a pinch of the breath he’d been holding, the planchette suddenly lurched under his fingers and arched over to the <em>yes</em>. </p><p>His relieved exhale suddenly became a choked whimper. He’d have felt embarrassed if it hadn’t been for Bill’s voice lilting over the sound. </p><p>“C-c-cut it out,” he said, elbowing Stanley. </p><p>“I didn’t do it!” Stan answered, blinking owlishly. </p><p>“Yes, you did. I saw your little s-s-smirk,” Bill said, grinning at Stan. </p><p>“You pay too much attention to me,” Stan mumbled. </p><p>“Is that so?”</p><p>“Mm-hmm.” </p><p>“Spirits,” Mike said again. </p><p>This time, when Richie looked over to him, Mike had his shoulders dropped, head back, eyes closed. He looked like he was really playing the part, even for all he said he didn’t believe. Richie swallowed and turned his attention back to the board. </p><p>His fingertips were numb, and he couldn’t look at Eddie without the world skipping, and the skipping freaked him out. So, he couldn’t look at Eddie. It was the worst kind of purgatory, like he was Orpheus and looking at his love would only destroy him. </p><p>He could only stare down at the <em>yes</em> taunting him from underneath the planchette’s glass pane, and he found that it didn’t really matter if Stanley had done it or not. He was scared.</p><p>“Thank you for talking with us,” Mike went on. He’d lost the cheesy voice, and Richie found himself missing it immediately. “Can you tell us your name?” </p><p>There was no hesitation from the planchette this time. Immediately, it slid down from the <em>yes</em>, and Richie’s eyes were wide, following its motion in abject horror as it paused, letter-by-letter, until it spelled <em>R-I-C-H-I-E</em>. </p><p>Around the small circle, the group went up in groans. </p><p>“Real fucking funny, dickwad,” Eddie said, elbowing him. </p><p>“F-f-first Stan, now you?” Bill asked. </p><p>Richie shook his head frantically. His heart wouldn’t slow, not even pause. It was a drum roll, it was Tyson on the speed bag, and he was horrified, choking on the feeling of it swelling up in his throat. </p><p>“Alright, guys,” Mike said. “How did you die, <em>Richie</em>?” he asked, nudging him. </p><p>For a blinding second, Richie thought it wasn’t going to move. Then, the planchette shifted, just the slightest nudge to the side, and landed squarely over the <em>H</em>. </p><p>A ragged breath tore out of him, and then all at once, tears were streaming down his face. </p><p>“Rich,” Eddie breathed, his hands leaving the wooden plank to thumb them away, try to pull his eyes over, but they were stuck. He watched it jerk back to the <em>E</em>, and he wasn’t just crying, he was sobbing, unable to stop watching the letters come under the glass, his fingers dragged uselessly along, jerking and jerking as he gasped. </p><p>“Hey!” Eddie barked back at the board, his hands warm on Richie’s face. “That’s not fucking funny, you assholes! Stop!” </p><p>Mike, Bill, and Stan all jerked their hands back, but it didn’t matter. The spirits had Richie. They were taking him. <em>H-E-A-R-T</em>, the spirit board said, arching back and forth between the letters, over and over, until Eddie managed to unclench Richie’s muscles and yanked his hands off the planchette. </p><p>“Richie, stop, stop, baby,” Eddie crooned. He wrapped his arms around Richie’s shoulders, hauled him in, pressed his lips back to that juncture of shoulder and neck, and as much as Richie had ever felt home in Eddie’s arms, he wasn’t there. He was in the waiting room, his heart an unstoppable, unsalvageable force.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I hope you're all well&lt;3 I'd love to know what you thought!</p><p>
  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RYlj-btwi6o">The scene of Richie’s Betelgeuse impression.</a>
</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Chapter 19</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Halloween finally finishes Happening and Richie blames a clown.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter picks up right after where the last left off, so, tws: recreational drug use (marijuana edibles), a bad high, panic attack, mention of underage sex</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div>
  <p>
  
    <em>October ‘93</em>
 
</p>
</div><p>Eddie had never lost a buzz so fast in his life. One second, he was drifting among the clouds, rolling his eyes at Stan pulling the planchette, and the next, Richie was shaking in his arms, sobbing so hard that listening to him try and breathe made Eddie’s own throat close. </p><p>“He’s having a panic attack,” Eddie said, not to anyone in particular, just their friends at large, each watching with helpless, scared expressions. Richie sucked in half a breath, and Eddie rubbed up his spine slowly. </p><p>“Rich,” he tried again. His voice was surprisingly calm for the man he loved to be crashing to pieces in his arms. “Rich, honey, can you breathe with me?” </p><p>Eddie pulled in a slow, exaggerated breath, even as Richie began shaking his head frantically, his hands clawing up Eddie’s sleeves. </p><p>“Too,” he gasped, spittle rolling over his lips. “Too fast—heart.” </p><p>“Okay, Rich. You’re okay. Try to breathe, alright?” Eddie drew in another long, full breath, sliding his palm up Richie’s spine with the inhale and back down with the exhale. Richie tried, bless him, he tried, but the breath Eddie watched him suck in seemed to lodge there, and he cried harder as it rushed back out of him. </p><p>Eddie thumbed at the tears again. He had Mike’s mantra pounding through his skull. <em>Love him enough not to let it show how scared you are.</em> He didn’t let his hands shake where they pressed into Richie, but when one hand settled against Richie’s jaw, he felt the pulse hammering away there. It was monstrously fast. </p><p>Eddie’s throat clicked as he swallowed, shoving his own panic deep, <em>deep</em> down inside of himself. </p><p>“With me, baby. You’re here with me. You’re safe. Try again.” </p><p>Eddie’s palm slid back up, and Richie, eyes clenched closed, his forehead pressed firmly to Eddie’s, managed to drag it in. It burst back out of him just as quick, but it was something. </p><p>“You’re doing so good, Rich,” he murmured, closing his eyes tight, clinging desperately to the mantra. Even as Richie’s breaths grew more even, his heart was unrelenting, slamming, slamming, faster than Eddie could count. </p><p>“Can’t,” Richie gasped, and Eddie shook his head, hooking Richie’s neck under the wig-pressed curls and holding him there. </p><p>“You’re doing so good,” he said again and slid his palm back up. He felt the air hitch into Richie’s lungs, little by little. </p><p>From the corner of his eye, Eddie saw Stan rise off the couch and hurry away from the barn. He returned a few seconds later with Richie’s glasses outstretched, and Eddie’s heart lurched. He loved Richie, fuck did he ever, but there was so much warmth in knowing that Richie was <em>surrounded</em> by people who loved him.</p><p>He smiled at Stan, a thin, meager thing that could never express how grateful he was to him for loving Richie. Eddie pulled away a bit, and sure enough, one contact was bunched off the end of his eyelid, and the other was already sliding down the front of his dress. He plucked the contact off his lid and pushed the glasses on his face as Richie hiccupped a sob, pressing back into Eddie’s neck. </p><p>“Eddie,” he moaned, jerking violently between clutching Eddie so tight he thought they’d both bust and sagging his whole weight into him. “My heart, Eddie. My heart, I don’t wanna die, please make it stop, Eds, I don’t wanna die.” </p><p>God, the fear, the <em>pain</em> in his voice… It made it hard for Eddie to breathe. All he could do was repeat the mantra, clutch Richie tighter to him, murmur low in his ear, try to keep calm. </p><p>“Breathe, baby boy,” he said, voice trembling. “Just breathe. You’re going to be okay.” </p><p>They sat there on the floor for a long while, Richie snatching in shuddering breaths, Eddie holding him. His heart never slowed, and the tears never stopped streaming down his cheeks, even as the whimpering broke. </p><p>“Let me drive you home,” Mike said eventually, setting a soft hand on each of their shoulders. </p><p>Richie didn’t lift his head, just clung tighter to Eddie. </p><p>“Thanks, Mike,” Eddie whispered. </p><p>Somehow, they managed to get Richie to his feet and out to Mike’s truck, though he leaned on Eddie most of the way. </p><p>He held Richie as tight as he could on the way home, and when Mike stopped the truck in front of the Tozier’s scraggledly stretch of grass, the last of the trick-or-treaters long tucked into their homes, Eddie didn’t want to let him go. </p><p>“Thanks, Mike,” Eddie said again, gathering their things and shouldering his way out of the truck, Richie still clinging to him. “We’ll call you tomorrow.”</p><p>“Happy Halloween,” Mike answered weakly. They were creeping through Richie’s front door before Mike pulled off the curb. </p><p>The house was sound asleep, so Eddie turned the lock back into place and shuffled Richie up the stairs. Once they were behind the bedroom door, Eddie turned Richie around and tugged the zipper of his dress down slowly, being as tactile as possible. He always found that touch after a panic attack centered him. When Richie was left in nothing but his boxers, Eddie laid him out gently on the bed. He was a mess of tear-tracked mascara and red-blotched skin, and Eddie loved him so fiercely, so entirely that it felt like his center was being siphoned straight out of Richie, burning through them both. </p><p>“Eds,” Richie sniffled, when he tried to pull away, their glossy eyes locking. “Please don’t leave.” </p><p>His lip wobbled, and the thought of leaving him there, alone and crying in his bedroom with his heart going a million times too fast was so inherently <em>wrong</em> that Eddie had to work to hide a visible recoil. </p><p>He pushed a hand through Richie’s knotted curls. </p><p>“I’m not leaving you, Rich,” he murmured. “Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not ever.” Eddie sat himself on the bed beside Richie’s hip and leaned down to press their foreheads together, stilted puffs of air mingling between them. “You know that, right?” He felt suddenly desperate to make Richie understand this, and when he didn’t immediately confirm that he knew how boundlessly and unquenchably Eddie was tied to him, Eddie pressed harder against him. </p><p>The words left him. There weren’t words. </p><p>“I don’t wanna die yet, Eddie,” Richie whispered finally. </p><p>His hands were back on Eddie’s biceps, clinging like he was the thread that was holding him to this earth. Eddie could do that. He could believe enough for both of them. If anyone could keep Richie alive by sheer force of will, it was Eddie fucking Kaspbrak. </p><p>“You’re not,” Eddie told him fiercely. The alternative was not even to be considered. “You’re not. You’re here. You’re <em>healthy</em>. Your heart’s gonna slow down, and we’re going to wake up in the morning and start another new day of you trying to annoy the fuck out of me while I pretend not to love every second of it, okay?” </p><p>Richie’s tears, scalding tracks on his face, was the only response. </p><p>They laid there for a long while, Richie clinging to Eddie, Eddie folded down over him, shielding him from the world and from himself. </p><p>When his breathing evened back out, the tears finally dried with it, and Eddie pulled back just enough to see Richie staring glazed-eyed up at the ceiling. </p><p>“Rich,” Eddie breathed, and his fingers tightened on Eddie’s arms, but he didn’t look over. “I’m gonna get you some water, okay?” </p><p>A minute nod left him, and it broke Eddie’s heart. He <em>hated</em> seeing Richie like this, so quiet again, sapped of life…practically dead already. </p><p>The thought singed through Eddie, and he recoiled, pushing himself up from Richie’s body. </p><p>“I’ll be right back,” he mumbled, not that he really thought Richie was listening. It felt like Richie was a million miles away, spinning around in a place that Eddie didn’t know how to reach. That thought kind of hurt Eddie, too, the notion that Richie could go where he couldn’t follow, especially given how easy it was for Richie to drag Eddie out of whatever dark place he’d found himself lost. </p><p>But Eddie wasn’t good like that. He was physical. He was band-aids over skinned knees and Imodium down the hatch. He was a cast to set the bone, a boy who’d never loved before now. He was a product of his mother’s love, and it wasn’t enough to help Richie. </p><p>So, he did what he could. He crept downstairs and filled a tall glass of water. After the glass was filled, he set it aside and dug out a washcloth, twisting the faucet handles until the tap grew warm. </p><p>Richie had his head bowed over his hands when Eddie returned, picking at the last of the press-on nails. The other nine lay in a haphazard pile on his bedside table, and his nailbeds were bloody. Eddie set the glass aside and resumed his station at Richie’s hip, washcloth in hand. </p><p>“Can I take your glasses?” he asked, and Richie nodded, his eyes flicking finally, softly, to Eddie’s. Just as Eddie reached to slide them off his face, he paused, shifting instead to cradle Richie’s jaw in his palms. “I love you,” he said, the feeling sloshing around inside him like a wave pool. He wanted Richie to know. That was it. </p><p>“I love you,” Richie said back, almost like it killed him to admit. </p><p>Eddie swallowed down the fear in his throat and began cleaning the make-up off Richie’s face. The effort left him even more red-blotched than before, but he didn’t complain, just left his eyes closed and hands curled around Eddie’s thighs, and when he was done, Eddie pressed the glass of water into his hands. </p><p>“Drink this,” he urged. While Richie raised the glass to his lips, Eddie scrubbed the cloth across his own face, stood, and kicked out of his second-hand suit, leaving himself only in his undershirt and boxers. He took a moment to fold his used clothes, trying to breathe through the feeling that was swelling in him. </p><p>He tried to tell himself what he’d told Richie. <em>He’s not dying. He’s here. He’s </em>healthy<em>. His heart will slow, and they’ll wake up in the morning, and things will be exactly as they’ve always been between them. Nothing’s changed.</em></p><p>Richie pushed the now-empty glass back on the bedside table and arranged himself under the covers. When he reached for Eddie, Eddie went, tucking himself down into the nest of Richie’s arms. </p><p>“Goodnight, Rich,” he murmured, leaning up and pressing a long kiss against the warmth in Richie’s cheek. </p><p>“Night, Eds,” Richie croaked back, his arms a vise around Eddie’s shoulders. </p><p>As tempting as sleep sounded after the stress of the night, and as warm as he was wrapped around Richie, Eddie found he couldn’t sleep. He pressed another soft kiss against Richie’s cheek, then nosed down so that his face was pressed into the curve of Richie’s neck. His heartbeat was hammering against Eddie’s lips, and the reassuring feel of it there, it was the first real comfort he’d felt all night. He kept his mouth against the pulse, the gentlest of touches, unwilling to lose the eternal—if rapid—confirmation that Richie was <em>here</em> and that his heart was <em>beating</em>.</p><p>He didn’t know what would happen if he pulled away. </p><p>Richie’s pulse gradually slowed as the night wore on, as the drugs wore off, and Richie went limper and limper with sleep. He snored softly, and still, Eddie kept his lips on Richie’s neck, begging for some unnamable thing, for as long as he possibly could. </p><p>Eventually, sleep took him fitfully and unwillingly, and when he later awoke, it was to a series of knocks that had Eddie scrambling back to consciousness, disoriented and certain that he’d just felt the last of Richie’s heartbeats under his lips. </p><p>Frantic tears sprung to his eyes as he leaned over Richie, but before the weeping could start in earnest, Richie shifted under him and groaned. </p><p>“Fuck,” he breathed. He had his eyes open—<em>alive, alive, alive, Christ, he’s here</em>—but they were trained on a spot just over Eddie’s shoulder. Before he could turn to follow his gaze, a new voice broke into the room. </p><p>“Good morning, Eddie,” the voice said, spilling from the doorway. Shit, shit, he knew that voice.</p><p>The sleep-panic cleared from Eddie’s brain immediately, and he closed his eyes, fire lighting through him. </p><p>“Good morning, Mrs. Tozier,” he said after a beat. </p><p>The silence in the room weighed a million tons, and if he still wasn’t buzzing electric at Richie’s heart continuing to dance through him, Eddie might have combusted on the spot. </p><p>“Get dressed and come downstairs, boys,” Maggie said. Eddie couldn’t look at her, but he found quickly that it didn’t matter, the door whispering shut between them. </p><p>“Shit,” Richie said, bringing a hand to his forehead. “Mom’s gonna have my ass.” </p><p>Though they both dragged out the process of redressing, casting furtive, guilty glances at one another over sleep-rumpled hair, it seemed as though neither particularly favored the idea of stoking the fire of Maggie Tozier’s wrath by taking all day to get downstairs. They found themselves trudging down the stairs a mere handful of minutes later.</p><p>As Eddie followed timidly behind Richie, afraid even to hold his hand after getting caught in bed with him—despite the fact that the most salacious thing they’d done the night before being Eddie pressing his mouth against Richie’s pulse and begging it to keep jumping under his lips—he knew that any more time they spent upstairs would only be delaying the inevitable.  </p><p>Maggie was waiting at the dining room table when they finally walked in with their tails between their legs. Eddie felt like his face was a million degrees and growing hotter as she waved them down into adjacent chairs, her expression unreadable. </p><p>They both shifted into their seats, nervously avoiding each other's gaze and Maggie's. The longer they sat there in silence, the more horrified Eddie grew that Maggie was going to wait them out, so silent and judging, just like his own mother. </p><p>For Eddie, nothing was worse than that piercing silence. </p><p>But before he could start full-out trembling with anxiety, Maggie ticked an eyebrow up and rolled her gaze to Richie. </p><p>“Rich,” she said, her voice full of exasperation, and just like that, the floodgates snapped open. </p><p>They both started talking, voices clamoring over one another. </p><p>“—my fault—”</p><p>“—don’t blame Eddie—”</p><p>“—didn’t want to go home—”</p><p>“—asked him to stay—” </p><p>“—Mom wasn’t going to—”</p><p>“—killer clown!”</p><p>Maggie raised a hand, and their hurried, stammered excuses dove into silence. She cocked a disbelieving look at Richie.</p><p>“Seriously, Rich? You’re going with killer clowns?” she asked, and Eddie watched from the corner of his eye as Richie lifted a shoulder. </p><p>“You never know with Derry,” he said. His voice was so steady that, were it not for the skittering drum of his fingers on the tabletop—God, so <em>wrenchingly</em> close to the sound of last night’s heart that it made Eddie’s insides roll—he might have passed as calm. </p><p>“Right,” Maggie said with a slow, drawn-out sarcasm. </p><p>Eddie’s mouth twitched in spite of himself, but when her eyes slid over to him, the half-hysteric humor of the situation shriveled on the spot, though her gaze softened. </p><p>“I’m sorry, Mrs. Tozier,” he said quietly, feeling about two inches tall. </p><p>“Eddie, honey,” she said, her hand falling onto the table between them, palm-up. She wiggled her fingers until he tentatively set his hand in hers, rattling with some fear he’d never known. As her lips twisted into a small smile, he realized this was the first time they’d properly spoken while he was dating Richie. His mouth went dry. </p><p>“Call me Maggie, okay?” she said, squeezing his fingers. He could barely nod. “Good. Eddie, you’re welcome here anytime, no questions asked.” The room spun, just a little, and righted itself when she continued, her gaze turning to narrow on Richie. “But, I would prefer that he does not share a bed with <em>you</em>, Richie.” </p><p>“Mom,” Richie groaned, his cheeks growing instantly red. Eddie, his hand still caught in Maggie’s and burning like a boiled lobster, thought it served him right. She lifted her free hand to cut him off.</p><p>“I’m not stupid, Rich, alright?”</p><p> Oh, God. Oh, dear God, no. She wasn’t about to comment on their <em>sex life</em>, was she? Eddie thought he was going to pass out. </p><p>Maggie continued, relentless, “I know you and your friends have sleepovers at other places, and I know that you probably share a bed together there—” </p><p>Holy fuck she <em>was</em>! Eddie's vision went tunneling. What he wouldn’t pay for a sinkhole to burst open beneath the legs of his chair. He’d die happily.</p><p> “—and that you have been…<em>intimate</em>—”</p><p>Jesus Christ, she’s still clutching his hand?! Spontaneous human combustion?! Seventeen-years’-delayed sudden infant death?! A meteor?! <em>Anything!</em></p><p>“—in the past, but Dr. Warner said—” </p><p>“Mom,” Richie said, sharply this time, with less embarrassment and more…Eddie wasn’t quite sure through the pounding in his ears. Fear? Warning?</p><p>Maggie’s eyes narrowed a bit, like she heard it too and didn’t like the sounds of it, but she let it go.</p><p>“I’m just saying. If he needs to spend the night, one of you sleeps on the couch.” </p><p>“Fine,” Richie said, his tone clipped and nervous again. “Alright. Understood.” </p><p>“Good.” She swung her gaze back to Eddie, and there was a burst of panic in him before she squeezed his hand and smiled. “Are you staying for breakfast?”  </p><p>Oh, <em>absolutely not</em>. He was going to go hide for the rest of eternity and try to scrub himself clean of the feeling of having his sex life discussed by his boyfriend’s mother while she <em>held his hand</em>. </p><p>“Sure,” he squeaked, and as soon as the word left him, he felt light-headed. The room swayed again, and she patted his hand, disappearing into the kitchen. “Oh my God,” he whimpered, bringing his hands to his face and pressing the whole package into the tabletop. Richie patted his back, and Eddie snapped his head up to stare at him, wide-eyed, horrified. “You <em>told her</em> we had sex?!” he hissed, his voice barely loud enough to be heard over the sounds of Maggie pulling together a breakfast for them. </p><p>Richie suddenly went beet-red, and he withdrew his hand from Eddie’s back to scrub across his neck. </p><p>“Er…sort of? It slipped.” </p><p>Eddie let his head fall back to the table, doing very little to muffle his groan. </p><p>“Oh my God, I’m in love with a moron.” </p><p>“Sorry,” Richie said, his voice soft and contrite. </p><p>When Eddie peeked over at him, he looked genuinely upset, which was never an okay sight to see, let alone having been caused by Eddie running his dumb mouth. Something turned in Eddie, guilty. He found himself reaching for Richie’s hand. </p><p>“No, I’m sorry. I’m just being dramatic,” Eddie said softly. He pulled Richie’s hand into his lap and covered their joined fingers with his other hand. “That <em>was</em> super embarrassing though, just for the record.”</p><p>Richie brightened. </p><p>“Oh yeah. Top five, for sure.” </p><p>“Can’t wait to tell this story at the next Losers’ bonfire,” Eddie grumbled, leaning back in his chair and clasping Richie’s hand tightly between both of his own. </p><p>Richie grinned, and it was the first time he’d seen him really smile after the horrible, tear-stained night they’d had. It made Eddie love him more, the blindingly soft beam of his mouth, if that was even possible. Eddie loved him so tenderly it was dizzying. </p><p>When Maggie came back with eggs—“Eggs for my Eds,” Richie crooned, pinching his cheek and <em>earning</em> the aggressive swatting away Eddie gave him—and bacon and toast, the three shared a breakfast that miraculously didn’t seem marred by the horror they’d collectively endured twenty minutes prior. Eddie guessed Toziers were just resilient in the face of emotional turmoil.</p><p>Once they’d all eaten their fill, Eddie stood and began gathering the dishes. At least, he did, until Maggie realized what he was doing and took the plates from him. </p><p>“You’re a <em>guest</em>, Eddie,” she admonished. Instead, she passed the dishes to Richie, smiling sweetly. “<em>Richie</em>, on the other hand…” </p><p>“Mom,” he groaned, performing a really, very entertaining juggling act as one half-drained orange juice glass slid precariously deeper into the chasm between ribs and elbow. Eddie snickered but took mercy on him and freed the cup. </p><p>“Thank you for breakfast, Maggie,” Eddie said, smiling at her and rolling the cup slowly between his hands. “It was delicious.” </p><p>“You’re welcome, sweetie. Hey, Richie,” Maggie said, still smiling at Eddie. “Take note. This is what good home-training looks like.” </p><p>Richie, halfway to the kitchen, turned back to groan and roll his eyes at them. “It’s incredible how everyone but me fails to see what a gremlin you are, Eds,” Richie said. His face was doing a thing that Eddie thought was supposed to look disgruntled but actually did very little to hide the obvious adoration on his face. </p><p>Eddie grinned at him, brandished his cup. </p><p>“I guess you don’t want my help with the dishes, then?” he asked, and Richie’s eyes boggled. </p><p>“Hey, wait, no, no! I’m sorry, baby, you’re not a gremlin,” Richie said, still standing in the kitchen threshold and balancing his stack of plates, glasses, and cutlery. </p><p>Eddie huffed a laugh and strode over to him. </p><p>“Just get in there,” Eddie said, shoving him lightly between the shoulder-blades. </p><p>They washed, rinsed, and dried the dishes side-by-side, Richie passing soaped-up china to Eddie’s water-wrinkled hands, swaying into each other and bumping hips. </p><p>About halfway through the small load, Eddie was struck-hot by the domesticity of the scene, doubly so when Richie started singing his own dish-washing parody over the tune of <em>Yankee Doodle</em>.</p><p>“<em>Richie Tozier washing plates with Eddie by his si-ide</em>,” he sang, bouncing in place, grinning at the fondly narrowed eyes Eddie gave him. “<em>Glaring at his scrub-technique cause it wounds his cleanly pri-ide.</em>” </p><p>Eddie took the plate from him, rinsed it, set it on the drying rack, and fought a grin. </p><p>“Good hygiene isn’t a crime, Richard,” Eddie said, only to be drowned out by Richie singing louder.</p><p>“<em>Richie Tozier, wash them forks, oh Rich Tozier, you better! Mind the crumbs and the egg yolks and make Eddie much wetter!</em>” </p><p>Eddie barely even had time to brace himself before Richie was scooping out a handful of dish-suds and flinging them at him. </p><p>Eddie’s indignant splutter was immediately buried by Richie’s cackles wracking around the room. </p><p>“Oh, you’re fucking <em>asking</em> for it, Tozier!” Eddie screeched, scraping the crumb-crusted bubbles away from his clothes and smearing them right into Richie’s joyful-wide mouth. It did very little to slow Richie’s laughter. If anything, it only ratcheted it higher, so that  Eddie had no choice but to rip the dish towel off the pull of a nearby drawer and coil it up. </p><p>He snapped it once by Richie’s hip, just to get his attention, and the laughter tumbling out of Richie’s mouth seemed to shriek through the room as he skittered away from the tail of the make-shift whip. Eddie chased him, already coiling it back up, giggling from the sound of Richie’s joy alone. </p><p>He ducked around the island, and Eddie followed until they were laughing and shouting from opposite sides of it, Eddie snapping the towel out again and again without ever hitting him, Richie scooping out more handfuls of soap and tossing them at him. </p><p>One snap of the towel licked against Richie’s upper arm, and he yelped around his laughter, and before Eddie’s laughter could die enough to apologize for actually snagging him, Richie was around the island and tossing the towel away, giggling maniacally. </p><p>Eddie bolted, and they went around a few more times, slipping on soap, yelling, until Eddie—weaponless—ended up back at the sink, staring at Richie—poised with two large handfuls of slowly wilting suds—across the island stretch. He was cornered, and Richie, with a single challenging eyebrow lifted over his glasses and over his grin, let Eddie know that Richie knew it. </p><p>But Eddie Kaspbrak wasn’t one to go down without a fight. In a burst of blinding inspiration, Eddie ripped the spray attachment up from the sink and pointed it at Richie. </p><p>The whirl of emotions he saw pass through Richie’s face, defeat, excitement, pride, love, it was practically dizzying, and Eddie, his heart beating wildly in his chest, grinned at the sight. Then, he reached out—never taking his eyes off Richie—and turned the water on. It poured down into the sink, but the second he pulled the trigger, it would douse Richie. </p><p>Richie’s eyes tracked the movement of Eddie’s hand moving from the faucet to his opposite wrist, as if he were holding a real gun. </p><p>“You fight dirty, Eds,” Richie said, still grinning, still holding his dripping handfuls of soap, still looking like he’d never been prouder of Eddie. “Truce?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. </p><p>Eddie just tilted his chin up and narrowed his eyes. </p><p>“Drop the suds, Tozier,” Eddie said, ticking his head down towards the sink, and slowly, ever so slowly, Richie leaned forward over the island to slough the suds off his hands and back into the basin. </p><p>Once Eddie was satisfied by the sight of his sudsless hands, Richie still leaned close, he pumped the trigger, just once. </p><p>Water drenched Richie immediately, spluttered into his stunned-hung mouth, splashed against his glasses, soaked his hair and shirt, and immediately, Eddie was cackling again as the hose slithered back into its place. </p><p>“Oh, you’re such a bastard,” Richie gasped, spewing into the sink. He reached down to turn the water off, and before Eddie could straighten himself out of his hunched-over laughter, out of reach, Richie yanked him in by the shirt collar and crushed their lips together. </p><p>It was an awkward, soggy kiss, both of them straining over the soaked island to meet, Eddie still giggling into Richie’s mouth, but it quickly made its way onto a better Top Five list than the one Richie had mentioned earlier, especially with the way he could feel Richie’s cheeks bunching into laughter under his palms, both too giggle-stupid to kiss properly. </p><p>“You’re a bastard, and you’ve ruined me for the whole rest of the world,” Richie said, somehow managing the words around his grin, around his kiss, around the strain of his body, and Eddie could only struggle and fail to force words out around how full-up happy he felt in that moment.</p>
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<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Chapter 20</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Eddie learns to drive.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Who let the gays drive??? I'd like to warn in advance that this chapter is 90% them being dumbasses bickering over how to drive a manual transmission. </p><p>tws: none? Let me know if you think that is not true, and I’ll fix it!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
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    <em>November ‘93</em>
 
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</div><p>They finished the dishes—Richie shaking out his wet hair on Eddie every chance he got, since it was <em>Eddie’s fault</em> and since Richie was just that nice of a guy—and got them tucked away. </p><p>After that, he trailed a laughing, grinning Eddie up the stairs to tug on dry clothes. </p><p>Richie was halfway through the arduous process of ridding himself of water-logged layers when a knock sounded at the door.</p><p>“We’re <em>naked</em>!” he called in a sing-song voice, earning himself a huff from the other side.</p><p>“Not funny,” Maggie said, but he just snickered.</p><p>“Sorry,” Eddie said, ever the mama's boy, opening the door with a reproachful roll of the eyes towards Richie. “We were just drying off. Richie started flinging soap like a chimp.” </p><p>“You got me with the spray nozzle!” Richie protested, trying hard not to sound like he was tangled in his shirt, but when Eddie glanced back at him, he was definitely tangled in his shirt, glasses askew, wet layers twisted, one nipple vaguely hard in the chill. </p><p>Eddie snorted. “You started it!”</p><p>“I called a truce!”</p><p>“I did not agree to that!” </p><p>“Oh, wow,” Maggie said, interrupting them with a smirk. “I didn’t mean to open a can of worms. I was just coming to tell you that I’m leaving to pick up your prescriptions. Your father should be home by lunch.” </p><p>Richie nodded, finally managing to roll the fresh t-shirt down his chest. </p><p>“I’ll be back soon,” she said smiling at each of them before turning and striding back down the hall. As the front door closed, the door just beside Richie’s opened, and Nicole, her head a nest of wild-dark curls, shot a truly curdling glare at the pair. </p><p>“Hi, Eddie,” Nicole said, nodding to him before turning her attention on Richie. “You guys are fucking loud.” </p><p>“We will be fucking loudly, Nicole,” Richie corrected, nudging Eddie aside to lean out and grin at her. </p><p>“I hate you,” she said back flatly, and he blew her a kiss, pretended not to think about the seed of truth in her words.</p><p>“Noted,” he said. </p><p>True to the unshakeable fashion of teenagers—not that Richie could really talk, being one himself—she rolled her eyes at him and made her way downstairs. They followed a few seconds later, once the gift of Eddie’s perfectly smooth tummy was once again stolen away by his shirt, and collapsed down into opposite ends of the couch with their legs tangled between them. </p><p>Nicole wandered into the living room a few moments later with a bowl of cereal, claimed the remote, and sprawled out on her stomach alongside the coffee table to eat her spoils. </p><p>“You guys wanna watch MTV?” she asked, already flicking to the channel. It was a moot point; neither were paying a whole lot of attention, anyway, too busy kicking back and forth at one another to be otherwise entertained.</p><p>About halfway through the second music video, the telephone rang, and Richie yelped out over both the song and the ring. </p><p>“Not it!” he called, Eddie’s voice tumbling out immediately after with his own, “Not it!”</p><p>“Damn,” Nicole groaned, pushing herself up and making her way to the kitchen with a glare. She didn’t break her stride as she smacked the back of Richie’s snickering head. She shouted for him nearly as soon as the ringing stopped. “Richie! Mike’s on the phone!”</p><p>“I’m right here, Nicole!” Richie shouted back. “I can literally see you right now, you don’t have to yell!”</p><p>If it were possible, her voice grew even louder in the empty air (all twenty feet of it) between them, “Come get the phone!” </p><p>“Bring it here!”</p><p>“No!” </p><p>“Jesus Christ,” Richie huffed, though he did detangle himself from Eddie to go snatch the cordless from his sister. “Asshole,” he said to her. She just grinned and followed him back into the living room. </p><p>“Hey, Mikey,” Richie said, lifting Eddie’s legs and flopping down under the warm arch of his knees. He raked his fingers absently through the downy hair at Eddie’s ankle. </p><p>“Tell Mike I said hi,” Eddie said, nudging his thigh into the soft of Richie’s stomach.</p><p>“Eddie says hi.” He wrapped his palm around Eddie’s calf. </p><p>“Hi, Eddie,” Mike said in his ear.</p><p>“Mike says hi back.”</p><p>“You guys feeling okay this morning?” Mike asked, and just like that, the lightness of the morning was sucked away. All the panic from the night before, all the fear, the ache, it was drumming in his chest. </p><p>Eddie made it so easy to forget…</p><p>“Yeah, we made it through the night. Thanks for bringing us home.” </p><p>When Richie glanced up, he saw a soft frown on Eddie’s face, eyes on Riche’s lips, on red-alert by the sadness he’d let edge into his voice. And because Richie’s a master of distraction, he tugged on Eddie’s leg-hair. </p><p>“Ow, you dick!” Eddie hissed, kicking his hand away. Eddie made it all so easy…</p><p>“And you? You’re feeling okay this morning?” Mike asked. Even through the phone, Richie could hear the carefully prodding tone, the barest, sharpest hint of suspicion. Richie’s heart thudded.</p><p>“Yeah, man,” Richie said quickly, smiling, hoping Mike could hear it. Hoping it would be enough. “Everything’s good here.” He wrapped his palm around the warm hollow of Eddie’s knee, tugged it closer, tried to hold on. </p><p>“Alright,” Mike said after a beat, and Richie squeezed Eddie tighter. “I just wanted to check in. I’ll still see you tomorrow?"</p><p>“Bright and early,” Richie said. “Bye, Mike.” </p><p>He hung up before more damage could be done. </p><p>Then, he and Eddie sat staring at one another, Nirvana crooning from the TV’s tinny speakers, Nicole’s spoon clinking in time. </p><p>It was too still, too quiet, like Eddie would <em>look</em> and he’d <em>know</em> and he’d <em>leave</em>. And Richie wasn’t ready for that. </p><p>“Let’s go for a drive, Eds,” Richie said all at once, knuckling down the runner’s knots of his calves. </p><p>The furrow of Eddie's brow deepened. “Your truck’s broken,” he said, and <em>shit</em>, Richie’d forgotten that was the lie he’d told. He’d forgotten that he’d <em>had </em>to lie, that that was the only way he could protect himself, protect Eddie. Not lose him. </p><p>“Oh, uh,” he started. From the corner of his eye, he saw Nicole glance back at them, frowning now, too. “We got it fixed,” Richie said, blinking hard at her over his pounding heart until she relented, raised both eyebrows, and turned back to the TV. </p><p>“That’s great,” Eddie said, smiling a bit. “I feel bad hitching with Mike.” </p><p>“Well…” Richie felt sure his face was on fire. He hated lying to Eddie. Hated it. “I mean, it’s not <em>fixed</em>-fixed. I still can’t drive it to school and stuff, but it’ll get us around town.” </p><p>“You sure Mom’ll like you going for a drive, Rich?” Nicole asked, not tearing her gaze off the TV, her tone full of insinuation. </p><p>It took everything in Richie not to slam a throw pillow into the back of her head. </p><p>“<em>I’m</em> not going to drive, Nicole,” Richie bit out, glaring at her. She lifted a tense, passive spoonful of her Cocoa Puffs and watched Kurt Cobain. </p><p>“You’re not?” Eddie asked. </p><p>“Nope. I’m going to teach you.” Richie tried on his most brilliant smile, but it only made Eddie seem more unconvinced. His eyebrows were now firmly in the <em>skeptical</em> position. “Oh, c’mon, Eds! It’ll be fun. Plus, everyone needs to know how to work a stick.” Richie waggled his eyebrows aggressively, and Eddie groaned. </p><p>“You’re disgusting.”</p><p>“You love me.” </p><p>“I dunno why.”</p><p><em>Me either, Eds</em>, Richie thought. His smile only dipped a little. </p><p>“So, are you in or not?” </p><p>Eddie was frowning, pouting even, but Richie could see the quiver of amusement in his eyes. He was in. Richie threw his hands up in the air. </p><p>“How-dyy!” he hooted, grinning as Eddie groaned and shoved at him. </p><p>“Let me call my mom, and we’ll go,” Eddie said, snatching the phone out of Richie’s hand. </p><p>Nicole pushed herself up from the ground, her now-empty cereal bowl in tow, and made for the kitchen. Richie let her get to the sink, let Eddie get the first few numbers keyed in before he eased out from under his legs and followed her. </p><p>She glanced up when he walked in and huffed. </p><p>“Don’t look at me like that,” she said, entirely unapologetic. Her hair fell in her face as she scrubbed the milk from her bowl. </p><p>“What the fuck, Nicole,” Richie hissed, glancing back at Eddie, making sure he was caught up in his mother. </p><p>“You’re <em>lying</em> to him,” she snapped back, her voice sharp and quiet. </p><p>“He doesn’t need to know.” </p><p>“Bullshit,” she snapped, glaring, frozen in her scrubbing. “He’s got a right to know.” </p><p>“It’s<em> my</em> heart.”</p><p>“Yeah, and you gave it to <em>him.</em>” </p><p>Richie scoffed, anger boiling up and up, but Nicole’s glare only hardened. </p><p>“You’re gonna hurt him,” she said, sharp as razor wire. Twice as sure.</p><p>And fuck, wasn’t that just the truth of the matter. Richie’s fifteen-year-old little sister snarling in his face that he was gonna break Eddie’s goddamn heart like she knew the whole fucking story. Like he wasn’t keeping it from him to <em>stop it</em> from hurting him. </p><p>“Fuck you,” he spat. </p><p>“Sure, Richie, fuck me,” she snarled, practically throwing her bowl down into the drying rack. “You’re being a goddamn asshole and you know it.” </p><p>She shoved past him, and he had half a mind to chase after her, scream in her face like they used to do when he was feeling good and she was being annoying, but he was trembling with anger, heart thudding loud and hard in his chest, and Eddie was waiting ten yards away in the living room. </p><p>He took a deep breath, shoved it back out, and felt his heart slow bit by bit. </p><p>When he was calm enough again, he turned the corner and found Eddie still on the phone with his mom. He glanced up when Richie stationed himself along the back of the couch and rolled his eyes, his face full of conspiratorial exasperation. </p><p>“Yes, Ma,” he said into the phone. “I’ll be home before it gets dark…Yes, I’ll watch for muggers…Yes, I’ll call you if we go anywhere…I gotta go, Ma…Okay! I gotta go! Yeah, love you too.” </p><p>Eddie hung up with a huff. </p><p>“I thought things were getting better between you two,” Richie said, reaching out and pushing a hand back through Eddie’s hair. The touch knocked the last of the anger off him. Left a wide, open space for guilt to edge in… He tried to ignore it.</p><p>“Yeah, they’re alright,” Eddie said, shrugging and setting the phone down on the coffee table. “She just…” He blew out a long, steady puff of air, and Richie pushed through his hair again. Eddie turned once his fingers threaded through the nape and pressed a soft kiss against the inside of Richie’s wrist. He smiled softly up, looked like warmth and sunshine and all the things Richie would miss most. “She’s just worried.” </p><p>Richie nodded. “I know.” </p><p>Eddie’s smile lingered, and after a beat, he pushed himself up off the couch and smacked his thighs. </p><p>“Well,” he said brightly. “Let’s go do something illegal!” </p><p>Richie couldn’t help the quirk of his lips, the bittersweet joy that burst through him. </p><p>“Driving’s not illegal, baby, but I like your spirit,” he said, following Eddie to the door and scooping up the keys to his truck. </p><p>“It’s illegal when I don’t have a license,” Eddie said, snatching the keys from him. “Hope you’re insured.” </p><p>Richie felt Nicole’s eyes on them, sharp and accusing, but he didn’t turn towards her. He just mustered up as much of a grin for Eddie as he could and shut the door firmly behind him. </p><p>They made their way through the frigid November morning towards the garage, where Richie’d had to abandon his beloved truck. He ran a hand along her rusty bumper, smiling softly. He’d only had her a few, short months, but he’d made damn good memories with her. He was just about to swing open the passenger door and climb in when he noticed Eddie hesitating at the front grill.</p><p>“What’s wrong?” </p><p>Eddie’s doey eyes swung up to him, his hands fiddling with the keys. </p><p>“I don’t know. Should we like…<em>start</em> here?” he asked, motioning around. </p><p>“Gotta start somewhere, babe.”</p><p>“Yeah, but…what if I hit something? I mean, I could run into the garage door or your bike or the mailbox or you! Richie, what if I run into you?!”</p><p>“Well, I’d be pretty impressed by that, considering I’ll be inside of the cab with you,” Richie said, grinning at him.</p><p> Eddie just swallowed, his eyes still wide and panicked. </p><p>That would not do. Suddenly, an idea struck Richie. </p><p>“Here, give me the keys,” he said, striding forward and holding out his hand. His heart jumped around as Eddie offered them gratefully over, like it knew that he was about to do something he shouldn’t. But he wasn’t scared. It was excitement and rebellion coursing through him. </p><p>It was delicious. </p><p>When he slid behind the wheel for the first time in weeks, it was like a weight lifted off him, and when he gunned the truck to life, flipped the heater on, and saw Eddie by his side, he knew what pure freedom looked like. </p><p>He couldn’t help the grin that ripped through him.</p><p>“Let’s burn some gas,” he said, shifting into first and easing out of the garage. </p><p>He headed towards the parking lot of an abandoned factory on the edge of town, savoring every second of the asphalt under his wheels. He didn’t think about the possibility of his mom seeing them on her way back from the pharmacy, didn’t think about how that might be the last time he’d ever drive. He just listened to the engine whine and shifted gears. </p><p>“Alright,” Richie said, glancing over at Eddie, the sleepy town passing around him. “First things first, you know where the clutch is?” </p><p>Eddie glanced down into the footwell. </p><p>“The one on the right is the gas, and the one beside that is the brake, so I’m guessing the clutch is the one on the left?” he said, pointing to each pedal as he named it. </p><p>“Yep. You’re gonna be using all three, but the clutch is the most important when you’re driving stick.” </p><p>“Why?” </p><p>“Well, because anytime you want to brake or change gears, you have to press the clutch, too, otherwise you’ll stall the engine out.” </p><p>Eddie’s eyes widened in horror, and Richie grinned at him, pressed the clutch and the brake to demonstrate. </p><p>“It sounds a lot more complicated than it is, I promise,” Richie said. “The hardest part is getting started in first gear.” Eddie’s look of horror seemed to double. “You know where all the gears are?” </p><p>“They’re right here,” Eddie said. He pointed an uncertain hand at the gearshift, and Richie <em>desperately</em> wanted to tease him about it. But it felt mean, like even a fond teasing would puncture this perfect bubble he'd suddenly regained.</p><p>“That's the gear <em>shift</em>,” Richie said, working to make sure his smile was soft, non-threatening. “That’s how you change gears, but there’s six of them. Seven, if you count neutral.” </p><p>“How do you know what gear you’re supposed to be in?” Eddie asked, looking more worried with every passing second. </p><p>“Watch,” he said, pressing into the gas, urging the truck to move faster down the quiet street. “You feel how the truck’s having to work harder to go faster?” Eddie nodded. “That means you want to shift up into the next gear. Press the clutch all the way down and shift.” </p><p>Richie demonstrated, and the roar of the engine quietened all at once. </p><p>“How do you even know where to shift to?”</p><p>“Well, there <em>used</em> to be a diagram,” Richie said, palming the ball-head of his gearshift fondly. “But it’s an old truck, so the sticker’s worn off. You’ve just got to know it at this point.” </p><p>He mimed each shifting position, calling them out as he shifted up and back and to the side. Eddie mirrored him, mouthing along, looking studious and serious, and Richie grinned. </p><p>“Honestly, you probably won’t get above second gear in town, with all the starts and stops, and third is pretty comfortable for solid stretches, just depending on how fast you want to go. Fourth is highway magic, and she'll definitely explode if you try to put her into fifth gear, so maybe don’t do that.” </p><p>The turn for the abandoned parking lot peaked into Richie’s sight, and something sad swooped through him, knowing the end was so close. He shoved the thought of the end away (he was used to that) and tried to resume his driving lesson. </p><p>“Knowing when to shift down is easy, too,” Richie said. He checked his mirrors, saw them empty, and he turned into the parking lot, easing onto the brake and not changing gears. </p><p>The whole vehicle started rattling, then stalled. Eddie jerked forward a bit and turned to him with wide eyes. </p><p>“Ideally, you want to shift down before it stalls,” Richie told him, grinning. He shifted back into neutral and cranked the truck again. “Okay, Spagheds,” he said, idling in neutral and leveling Eddie with a serious look. “Like I said, this is the really tricky part.”</p><p>“I don’t know that I want to learn anymore,” Eddie said, deadpan, clear worry on his face, but Richie just shook his head.</p><p>“You’ll be fine. You absolutely will stall out, but everyone does, so don’t feel bad. First, you shift into first gear, like so. Then, you <em>ease</em> off the clutch and onto the gas.”</p><p>Richie demonstrated, and the truck crept forward a few feet before he stopped it. </p><p>“Got it?” </p><p>“Do I <em>look</em> like I’ve got it, Rich?” Eddie asked, eyes wild, and Richie grinned. </p><p>“I dunno, but you look cute.” </p><p>Eddie huffed, but he couldn’t hide the burst of red filling his cheeks. </p><p>“Shut up. Let me try.” He unbuckled his seatbelt and shouldered open the door. </p><p>Richie slid over the gearshift and onto the passenger side, smiling as Eddie made his way into his vacant seat. </p><p>Seeing Eddie behind the wheel of his truck, Richie couldn’t lie, did something to him. It was something of a strange view, considering that he’d very seldom—if ever—ridden shot-gun in his own vehicle, but Eddie looked good there. </p><p>He sat up tall—well, tall<em>-ish</em>—and had the sun-lit profile of a god. When he frowned, Richie had half a mind to duck from divine wrath, but the only kind of wrath he got was Eddie hunching down, yanking on a lever under his knees, and sending the whole bench seat sliding forward about six inches. </p><p>Richie’s knees rammed into the dash, and he yelped. </p><p>“Jesus, Eds!” </p><p>He was worming around immediately, trying to un-wedge his legs and figure out some way of pretzeling them into the minimal footwell space left, but he could hear Eddie giggling, the put-upon frown garbling it a bit. </p><p>“It’s not my fault that your legs are longer than waiting for Christmas,” Eddie said, and of course, Richie started cackling, because the obvious follow-up was that <em>his</em> package would be waiting with a bow when Eddie got to the end of his wait. But Eddie groaned before he even got it out. “God, you’re the worst, you know that?” he asked, glaring at Richie, amusement in his eyes. </p><p>“You’re the one who chose a descriptor for my long-ass legs that had gifts at the end of them!” </p><p>“Obviously, I forgot who I was talking to,” Eddie said dryly.</p><p>“You feel like a little kid on Christmas there, Spagheds?” </p><p>“Don’t call me that.”</p><p>“You wanna come sit on Santa’s lap? Tell him all about the <em>presents</em> you want?” Richie wiggled his eyebrows, grinning, and Eddie pushed his face away, groaning, cheeks scarlet. </p><p>“You planning on teaching me to drive, or are you just gonna flirt with me until it actually <em>is</em> Christmas?” </p><p>“Baby, I’ll flirt with you for the rest of my life,” Richie said, grinning, reaching out, and wrapping a hand around Eddie’s thigh, desperately refusing to think about the barreling end, that dark cloud swirling around him closer and closer. </p><p>Then, Eddie’s lips quivered into a smile, like the sun breaking through the clouds, and it was okay again.</p><p>“Shut up,” he grumbled. The engine roared to life, and he positioned his hands squarely at ten and two, like a goddamn goober. Then, he took a deep breath in through his nose and blew it out between his lips. “I’m ready,” he said firmly. </p><p>Richie watched with no small amount of amusement as Eddie pressed the clutch into the floorboard and hesitated only a moment before remembering where first gear was. </p><p>The truck leapt forward and died. </p><p>“Shit,” Eddie hissed. </p><p>“It’s okay, Eds,” Richie said, reaching out and squeezing his shoulder. “Anyone who says they didn’t stall out while learning stick is a dirty liar.” </p><p>Eddie cut him a small, grateful smile before he turned the key back and tried again. This time, the truck didn’t even start.</p><p>“It has to be in neutral to start,” Richie said gently.</p><p>“Oh. Heh.” Eddie turned the key back, shifted, and cranked it. He drew in another calming breath before shifting once again into first. </p><p>“Come on. Ease in, baby,” Richie murmured. </p><p>He was being entirely sincere, carefully watching the give-and-take shift of Eddie’s feet on the pedals, and only when Eddie snorted and jerked his foot, truck leaping forward and dying again, did Richie realize what he’d said. </p><p>“Pervert,” Richie said proudly, grinning.</p><p>“I can’t believe I’m the one who made that dirty,” Eddie answered, cutting Richie a sly smirk before starting the whole shift, crank, shift ritual over again.</p><p>“Not so innocent after all, huh?” </p><p>“Whose fault is that?” </p><p>“Guilty, your honor.” </p><p>“Fuck off,” Eddie laughed. He was grinning as he eased off the clutch this time, and instead of jerking and stalling, the engine caught, and they rolled forward. Eddie whipped around and stared at Richie with wide, triumphant eyes. </p><p>And they stalled. The disappointment was immediate, and Richie laughed.</p><p>“It’s okay! You just let off the clutch a little early, but you’re getting the hang of it!” </p><p>“How the fuck are <em>you</em> coordinated enough to drive manual, and I’m not?” Eddie griped, starting the ritual again, not six yards forward from where they’d stalled last. </p><p>“Obviously because of my impeccable foot-eye coordination,” Richie said, grinning.</p><p>“Foot-mouth coordination, more like,” he grumbled. </p><p>“I heard that, you little bastard,” Richie said, still grinning. “And I can sit here quietly if you think you can figure this out all by yourself.” </p><p>“Fuck you,” Eddie said, but eventually, he <em>did</em> get the hang of it, and much faster than Richie had when his father had first taught him. As they cut lazy circles and zig-zags around and around the parking lot, Eddie mastered the clutch-gas balance of first start, mastered the clutch-brake duo at turns, and even though the parking lot was really too small to get above second gear, the knowledge of when to shift—up and down—seemed to hum in his bones. </p><p>Richie was proud.</p><p>“What do you say we take her out on the road, Spagheds?” Richie asked after a while, once he felt sure he’d taught Eddie all he could in that black-top parking lot. </p><p>Despite a brief flash of panic across Eddie’s face, he nodded. </p><p>“Yeah, alright.” </p><p>He eased the truck slowly to the mouth of the parking lot and checked for on-coming traffic at both sides diligently before letting off the clutch. Richie watched it all with the absolute certainty that Eddie would do anything he set his mind to. And just like that, they were pulling into the languid traffic, burbling meaningless conversation over the hum of the engine and the radio, happy. </p><p>Richie directed him around town for a while, and Eddie executed every turn like a pro, even when one particular jackass took to tailgating him for three blocks, Eddie screaming the entire time, <em>Jesus Christ, I know my ass is cute, but get off it!</em></p><p> Richie was howling by the time he realized Eddie had turned out of the town center to get away from his tailgater. The roads away from town were curvier, with longer stretches of un-interrupted road, so Richie used it as an opportunity to urge Eddie into third gear. He also showed him the slightly-illegal favorite move of manual drivers: the rolling stop. </p><p>“If you don’t have to stop and put it in first gear, you don’t have to fight for that first jump!” Richie told him excitedly as they <em>mostly</em> stopped for a stop sign. </p><p>“Well…” Eddie hedged, grinning sheepishly at Richie before flicking his eyes back to the road. “I do hate first gear.” </p><p>Richie threw his head back and laughed. Then, he settled in to enjoy the ride. He’d done it. Shown Eddie everything he knew about driving, handed the torch over to him. Now, he could just bask in Eddie’s company, in the warmth of the sun and of his boyfriend. </p><p>They drove around on the winding, dusty backroads for a while, laughing, watching the early November sun shake its way through the dying, hip-high grass on the roadside. There was an intersection ahead, and Richie had an arm slung along the seatback, gentle nails scrubbing across the base of Eddie’s skull, feeling just about as content as he’d ever felt. </p><p>“I love you,” Richie said suddenly, smiling softly. </p><p>Eddie shifted down into second as they approached the stop sign and glanced over, smiling. There was nothing short of pure wonder in those big, brown eyes, and the impossibility of it all choked Richie. It was incredible that he got to have this. </p><p>“I love you, too,” Eddie said, sparks of warmth rippling through his face, out into Richie. </p><p>Eddie gave a perfunctory glance to his left as they rolled through the stop sign. </p><p>Richie knew it was perfunctory because he was still gazing adoringly over at Eddie, and just beyond the perfect, freckled cusp of his chin, he could see the car barreling towards them. </p><p>“Stop!” Richie screeched, and they both jerked against their seatbelts as Eddie automatically slammed into the brakes. </p><p>The approaching car veered around them, honked angrily, and drove on. </p><p>“Heh,” Richie breathed, his heart rattling, just as angry as the ringing honk in his ears. He took quick stock of them, both okay, idling with stilted breath just a few feet past the white line of the intersection. His mouth ran ahead of him with a nervous lilt, “Ya know, Eds, the key to surviving the rolling stop is checking to make sure no cars are coming.” </p><p>He grinned shakily over at Eddie, only to find him ashen and staring terror-stricken down at his hands on the wheel. </p><p>“Hey,” Richie murmured. There was no humor left as he reached for him, and those dark, horrified eyes swung up to meet his gaze. “Hey, it’s okay, Eddie.”</p><p>“What?!” Eddie squeaked. His voice was barely a breath, even panic-edged. “How the fuck is it okay?! I nearly killed us, Richie!” </p><p>Richie’s chest gave another protesting clench, stuttering and straining his vision.</p><p>“We’re okay, baby. Things like this happen,” Richie heard himself say, almost like he was somewhere far away. He blinked, blinked again, and the fog shoved away a bit. </p><p>“I don’t wanna drive anymore.” Eddie shook his head and took his hands off the wheel, his feet off the pedals. </p><p>The truck juddered, leapt forward another few feet, and died. </p><p>“Fuck!” Eddie yelled. Richie heard the hitch in his breathing, the panic rising in him. </p><p>“Eddie, honey, we’re fine,” he murmured, glancing away from his boyfriend for just a moment to check their surroundings. They were still straddling the middle of the intersection, and though there was nothing coming towards them at that moment, he knew it wouldn’t stay that way for long. When his gaze found its way back to Eddie’s, those big, soulful eyes were darting manically across Richie’s face, his mouth open. </p><p>They flicked beyond him for just a second, suddenly doubled in horror, and Richie knew without looking that their time alone in the intersection was over. When he turned to see for himself, the front of a car was just breaching the hilltop two dozen yards back.</p><p>“Richie,” Eddie whimpered.</p><p>“You’re okay. Take a breath,” he urged softly, trying not to let his own mounting fear show as the car approached. “Start the truck, and pull forward a few feet. Then you’re done, okay?”</p><p>Eddie stared at him with wide eyes, for a beat, two. The car steamed closer.</p><p>“You can do this, Eds,” Richie said, and he could. Eddie could do anything. He just had to swallow the fear, had to jump.</p><p>Eddie closed his eyes, drew in a hollow breath. </p><p>Richie’s heart slammed, waiting for the <em>click</em> in Eddie, their time dwindling. </p><p> But when it came, that determined glint and stubborn jaw, it was like staring down a tidal wave. Eddie ripped the truck into neutral, gunned it to life, and roared out of the intersection so fast that when the pavement ended on the other side, the truck’s back wheels skidded sideways in the loose gravel. </p><p>Eddie just snapped down into second and <em>willed</em> the truck around a soft bend, dirt and rocks colliding with the underpinning like a symphony. </p><p>“I’ve never been so attracted to you,” Richie breathed after a beat, his heart in his throat. </p><p>It wasn’t necessarily <em>true</em>; he was always ridiculously attracted to Edward F. Kaspbrak, in every state, every mood, every light, but it was enough to break the tight, determined glare out of the windshield. </p><p>“Shut up,” Eddie mumbled. He tossed Richie a bashful glance, shoulders hiking a little. Richie grinned. </p><p>They drove a little ways further, Eddie <em>stopping</em> for every stop sign, neither saying much at all. Richie had no idea where the fuck they were—he’d lost that about two pavement/gravel trade-offs ago—but he wasn’t worried. There was three-quarters of a tank to burn through, and the sun was warm through the glass. </p><p>“You want me to drive?” he offered after a while, even though it made his stomach turn in anxiety. </p><p>Eddie seemed to sense this, if the suspicious glance he turned on Richie was anything to go by.</p><p>“You’re still looking a little green around the gills there,” he said, reaching out and poking his thumb into the hollow of Richie’s cheek. </p><p>Richie slapped him away but reached for his knee. </p><p>“Let’s not forget who thought shoot-first-ask-questions-later was a good tactic for an intersection.” </p><p>Eddie darkened a bit more, chewed his lip.</p><p>“I know,” he said, sounding very small. It tore into Richie. “I’m sorry.” </p><p>“Hey, no. I’m just fucking with you, Eds. It all turned out okay, right?” </p><p>“Yeah, but,” Eddie started. He heaved out a sigh and shifted down as they passed a sign that read <em>Welcome to Derry!</em> Richie had no idea how they ended up back in town. “What if it hadn’t? That car was coming right for you, Rich.” </p><p>Richie scoffed. There was something ugly burbling through his middle, not at Eddie but at the world. </p><p>“If it’s a car accident that does me in after all this shit, I’ll count it as divine retribution.” He glared out of the passenger-side window, still holding tight to Eddie’s bare thigh. The dumbass was wearing shorts in November, ran hot as magma. “Or impatience,” he muttered after a beat. </p><p>He felt Eddie whip around to stare at him, but he was stubbornly refusing to acknowledge it. </p><p>“You okay, Rich?” Eddie asked, elbowing him softly. There was concern in his voice, but it was of the soft variety. A far cry from crippling worry or overwhelming fear or preemptive grief, and as they rolled to a stop at a groaning red-light, Richie knew he was wrong to be tossing around words like “divine retribution” with Eddie sitting right there. </p><p>Sure, he felt like his life was a cosmic joke eighty percent of the time, but at least there was this. </p><p>“Yeah,” Richie said, and the smile he dug up, though small, was very real. “Just…thanks for trusting me.” </p><p>Trusting him to warn for danger. Trusting him to talk Eddie through the tough spots. Trusting him to be strong enough.</p><p>He thought suddenly of halcyon days with Bill and Mike and Stan, an unnamable guilt rattling through him because Eddie <em>trusted</em> him. Eddie loved him in exactly the way he needed, Eddie carved gullies into his ribs and soul with hands like pure summer, and Richie hadn’t earned a damn inch of it.</p><p>But Eddie gazed at him, the light blinking lazily back from yellow to red again, all the world unmoved, and Richie could almost swear that Eddie knew what he meant, and that it was enough.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>God, I miss driving stick... Also! Anyone but me (and Eddie) real soft for Richie unironically using "baby" as a pet name??</p><p>Hope you’re all thriving&lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Chapter 21</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Stanley kills a snowman.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>We're gearing up for the close, kiddos!</p><p>tws: Richie's mounting depression, vomit</p><p>Love you all&lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div>
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    <em>November ‘93</em>
 
</p>
</div><p>The first snow fell six days after Eddie learned to drive, icing the roads, dusting sidewalks, burying the weightless joy of running outside until at least Spring. He still loved it, of course, the burn in his legs, the undeniability that he could fucking <em>do this</em>, but he liked it decidedly less when every breath threatened to turn his lungs into a solid chunk of ice. </p><p>Richie stopped hanging around for his practices, but he was always there with Mike once it was over, and even though he always squealed, he was always willing to let Eddie jam the frozen sausages that he had to count as fingers into the warm hollows of his armpits until they thawed back out. </p><p>Even as the snow began turning to a truly disgusting mush, the whole world stayed gleaned by a sheet of ice, the trees glistening, the shallow banks of the quarry crystalized. Even though it was sloshy and grossly cold, Eddie could appreciate it, especially from the nice warmth of Stan’s backseat, Richie radiating heat by his side, looking actually precious with his puffer coat basically swallowing him. </p><p>“What do you think it would take to have Mike make his famous hot chocolate for us?” Stanley asked as they eased their way through the sloshy streets towards Mike’s farmhouse. </p><p>“Ah, just have Bill flash those puppy dog eyes at him. Mike’s a sucker for that,” Richie said, tugging Eddie closer against his side. </p><p>“Hey,” Bill objected, and Eddie could see the tips of his ears burn red. </p><p>“He’s right you know,” Eddie said, leaning around the seatback to get a better view. “Your puppy dog eyes give mine a run for their money.” </p><p>Bill spluttered again, but Richie was quicker. </p><p>“Hey, now. That’s just not true. Yours are like little melting balls of chocolate.” </p><p>“I’m so glad you finished that with ‘of chocolate’,” Stan muttered from the front.</p><p>“Why a-a-are we talking about this? We c-c-can just <em>ask</em> Mike to make hot chocolate.”</p><p>“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?” Richie knuckled down the round of Eddie’s cheek, smiled. </p><p>Mike, as it turned out, was more than happy to make them his famous hot chocolate—Eddie looked forward to figuring out why exactly it was “famous”—provided that they <em>earn</em> it. </p><p>“What the fuck does that mean?” Richie asked, grinning sidelong at Eddie, soft tendrils of snow scattering into his hair, melting on his glasses. His cheeks were red with the wind, and Eddie wanted to keep him there and perfect and smiling forever. </p><p>He settled for helping Richie make a lopsided snowman, however. That was Mike’s proposition for <em>earning</em> the hot chocolate. Apparently, it tastes best after you’ve frozen your ass off in the snow for two hours and incited a full-on war with snowballs. </p><p>Eddie wasn’t surprised at all that Richie was the first to hunch over, scoop up a handful, and lob it through the last dregs of their Sunday afternoon sunlight. He wasn’t even disappointed in his boyfriend. Only disappointed that he happened to be crouched right beside Richie and their ugly little snowman as the snowball crashed into Stan, and even more disappointed that Stan—for all the vengeful precision of his aim—had failed to pack his snowball in the slightest. </p><p>Ice and slush and snow sprawled across the both of them, and while Richie was wheezing with so much laughter that Eddie’s fingers itched for the ghost of his inhaler, his own fingers were more concerned with sloughing as much snow as possible away from the folds of his scarf before it sunk down and chilled him to the core. All he really managed to do, however, was create just enough of a gap that the snow slithered down under his scarf, his coat, his sweater, his thermals, and sear viciously into the skin at his collarbone. </p><p>“Ah, asshole!” he yelped, diving away from Richie as Stan hurled another snow ball. This one caught Richie squarely in the chest and exploded outward, a fine spray of it coating his glasses. Richie was undeterred.</p><p>“What, are you fucking twelve?!” Stan shouted, huffing as he threw snowball after snowball, dodging every one Richie carelessly threw back towards him. </p><p>Richie—the coward—hid behind their pathetic snowman, giggling like a maniac as he scraped up more ammunition. A particularly vicious hit from Stan collided directly with the snowman’s eyeball, and half of its head crumbled onto the ground. </p><p>“Oh, come on!” Eddie shouted, now a few good feet away from the giggling target that was Richie Tozier. “We worked hard on that!” </p><p>Stan, however, didn’t seem too affected by the death of a perfectly innocent bystander. In fact, he seemed hungry for more innocent blood, as his next snowball hurled straight for Eddie. There was barely enough time to duck. </p><p>After that, it was war. </p><p>“For your honor!” Richie cried to Eddie, whirling around and winding up to cream Bill with a snowball. </p><p>It caught him right in the shoulder and exploded out. Bill made a wounded noise, then another as Mike tag-teamed him. Mike’s caught him right in the stomach, and Bill looked up at him with wide, puppy-ish eyes. </p><p>“Et tu, Mikey?” Bill whispered dramatically. Then, he fell over backward, his toboggan going skewed, his tongue lolling out. “Avenge m-m-me, Eddie,” he called, stretching out his hand. </p><p>“Fuck you,” was Eddie’s pithy reply, just before he shoveled an armful of snow onto Bill’s face. </p><p>He sat up spluttering again, and all five of them darted off, chasing after one another, shouting, lobbing snowballs and breaking bonds with their allies. Even Richie was not above turning on his friends. Or his <em>boyfriend</em>. </p><p>He got Eddie while he was hiding behind the barn, leaning around the corner to spot his enemies. Eddie got a shirt-full of ice for not watching his rear… Then again, he couldn’t be too mad about it because it also got Richie pressing giggling kisses into his iced skin. He also got Richie leading him around to the barn entrance while their other friends were busy smashing snowballs into each other. </p><p>“Come on,” Richie murmured with a smile, tugging him towards the back corner of their little lounge. He paused to flick the space heater on then continued towards the hammock. Watching him worm his way into the rolling canvas sack really was quite the treasure, especially given how many times it threatened to dump him out despite his startled cries of protest, but eventually, Richie was successfully grinning like a goober at him from his little hammock burrito. </p><p>“Cute,” Eddie said. He made to fall onto the couch, but Richie caught his hand first. </p><p>“The water’s fine,” he said, holding his other arm out, a clear invitation. </p><p>“That thing will definitely break,” Eddie said flatly. But…Richie did look extra warm. </p><p>“The lady doth protest too much.”</p><p>“Alright, Mrs. Addams,” Eddie said, rolling his eyes. </p><p>Still, he climbed into the hammock with Richie, listening to him giggle like he’d won a prize. Settled against the snow-soaked cold of Richie’s chest, his heartbeat thudding along under his ear, Eddie would have argued that <em>he</em> was the only prize-winner in that room, but he just smiled and wormed his arms along the inner linings of Richie’s coat. </p><p>Though they could still hear the anarchy of Stan, Bill, and Mike pelting each other with snowballs outside, silence settled over the two of them. Richie flopped a leg out of the hammock and started an easy sway, the space-heater putzed, and Eddie was happy down to his core. </p><p>It’s a wonder that sleep took him as easily as it did, with the icy damp of his shirt clinging to him and the noise outside of their little haven, but some time later, Eddie found himself being startled awake by the jerk of the hammock. </p><p>Eddie shot up, startled and confused, and sent them rocking precariously while Richie tottered to hold onto him. </p><p>“Whoa! Easy!” Richie called hoarsely. It was then that Eddie noticed Stan cackling from his side. He turned over, ready to glare him into fucking off, but Stan just smirked and offered out two steaming mugs of hot chocolate. Mike and Bill were already folded down onto the couch, chatting about some essay they had due in their history class. </p><p>“Thanks,” Eddie said as he begrudgingly took the mug. </p><p>Richie took the second one Stan offered out and didn’t protest too much when Eddie wriggled around so that he was at the opposite end of the hammock, now facing him. </p><p>“Are you guys talking about college app essays?” Stan asked as he joined Bill and Mike on the couch. </p><p>Eddie groaned through his first sip of hot chocolate. The sudden reminder of the pile of half-finished applications on his desk soured him so much that he couldn’t fully appreciate the hot chocolate. (He couldn’t <em>fully</em> appreciate it, but he could appreciate it enough to know that it was damn fine hot chocolate.) </p><p>“Don’t remind me,” Eddie said. “The only thing I’ve finished on any of mine is the basic information section.” </p><p>“Where are you applying to?” Mike asked, craning around so that he could lock eyes with Eddie. </p><p>“Mom wants me to stay in state, unsurprisingly,” Eddie muttered. The next sip of hot chocolate went just as underappreciated as the first. </p><p>“Weren’t you thinking about NYU?” Richie asked, nudging him with his knee. </p><p>“I mean, yeah, but I doubt I’ll be able to afford it.” </p><p>“There’s a-a-always scholarships,” Bill said.</p><p>“Yeah, maybe,” Eddie said, squirming down until he didn’t have to look at them anymore. College was…admittedly not as high priority as it should have been. He definitely <em>wanted</em> to go somewhere nice, but it seemed like there would be too much in the way. Too much to leave behind. </p><p>“What about you, Rich?” Stan asked. “UCLA used to be your dream school, right?” </p><p>Eddie’s eyes flicked over to Richie, and though he was aware of the furrow cramping its way onto his face, he found very little control over it. Richie had never mentioned UCLA. In fact, now that he was thinking about it, Richie never really talked about what his plan was after Derry High. He was all gung-ho to listen to Eddie bitch and moan about his test scores and the college mailing lists and whether or not being his fourth grade class' treasurer should go on his list of accomplishments, but Richie, apart from the truly unhelpful suggestion that he should put “adorable dimples” on his resume, wasn’t exactly forthcoming. </p><p>And UCLA…that was on the other side of the country. That was a long way away from pretty much every school Eddie had considered. </p><p>But Richie wouldn’t meet his eyes. </p><p>“Nah,” Richie said, staring down at his mug with a smile that didn’t sit quite right on his face. “UCLA couldn’t handle me.” </p><p>There was a sadness skittering around on Richie’s face, and it made Eddie’s stomach turn. Even if he’d never mentioned it to Eddie, UCLA was obviously important to Richie, or had been at one time, and there was no doubt in his mind that Richie would absolutely dominate any school he went to. He had it all: impeccable grades, charming personality. He’d get in anywhere he applied, but for some reason, Richie had written it off. </p><p>“Rich,” Eddie murmured. </p><p>“Plus, I’d be too far from my little Spagheds here,” Richie said, nudging him again. This time, instead of the touch sending a roll of warmth through him, it just made his stomach clench. </p><p><em>He</em> was the reason Richie had written off his dream school…</p><p>“Richie, you can’t not apply just because it’s far away,” Eddie said through the sick feeling swirling through him. He refused to be something that held Richie back. </p><p>“I mean, that’s not the only reason I’m not applying, but it’s part of it.” </p><p>“Well, why not then?” </p><p>“I don’t know, Eddie,” Richie sighed. He finally locked his gaze on Eddie’s, and it was a look that Eddie had never seen directed at him before. It was one that said, <em>Don’t push it.</em> “It’s far from you, far from my family, expensive. It would certainly be more involved than Derry High.” </p><p>“Isn’t that a good thing?” Eddie said. He’d never been good at not pushing, even as he felt that old fear of conflict bubbling up in him. </p><p>“Yeah, for you, maybe,” Richie shot back. Just like the look in his eyes, there was an edge to his voice. It was enough to stun Eddie silent.</p><p>“So, what are you going to do?” Mike asked, once the silence between Richie and Eddie swelled to fill the room. “Are you going to apply to the community colleges around here?” </p><p>“I’m not applying anywhere,” Richie said, turning to Mike with his <em>Don’t push it</em> glare rising in potency, but Eddie felt indignant. Richie could do anything. He was smart, capable, determined. Not to at least <em>try</em> to go to college felt like wasted potential.</p><p>“Richie—” Eddie started on a sigh, but Richie cut him off, his voice sharp.</p><p>“I can’t <em>do that</em>, Eddie. I can’t put in fifteen hours of classes, fifteen hours of work, and another ten of homework with a shitty heart. It’s not happening for me. It’s fine. Drop it.” </p><p>And just like that, Eddie folded. Felt the shame rising in him for pushing a future that, to him, was expected but for Richie, was…inaccessible. </p><p>“Sorry,” Eddie said softly, staring down at the slowly chilling mug of hot chocolate in his hands. </p><p>After a beat, Richie sighed.</p><p>“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.” </p><p>“No, I get it. Your future is <em>your</em> future. It’s none of my business.”</p><p>“That’s not what I meant.” </p><p>“So, what about me, then?” Eddie asked, tearing his eyes off his drink to stare at Richie. </p><p>He wasn’t <em>angry</em> at Richie for deciding not to go to college. He understood why he made the choice. But…that was a decision about the future, a future that Eddie kind of assumed he’d be a part of. </p><p>“What about you?” </p><p>“What about <em>us</em>, Richie? I’m not staying here. I’m not. What are we going to do when I go off to college?” </p><p>“I’ll still want to be with you, if that’s what you’re asking,” Richie said, his face crunching like even the idea that he wouldn’t want to be with Eddie when he was three states away was unthinkable. </p><p>It wasn’t an unthinkable idea; it was something that they should have <em>talked</em> about, just the two of them, without the awkward silence of their friends sitting four feet to his left. </p><p>“Right,” Eddie said tersely. </p><p>Richie scoffed. </p><p>“You think I’d dump you just because I couldn’t see you every day?” Richie asked, his voice juddering with big emotions. Eddie couldn’t even name them.</p><p>“I think long distance relationships are <em>hard</em>, Richie. That’s four years apart.”</p><p>“I really don’t think that’s something you need to worry about.” </p><p>“What are you even <em>saying</em>? Of course, I’m worried about what four years apart would do to us!” </p><p>Richie opened his mouth to respond, his eyes glossy with anger, cheeks red with the cold. But then, he just snapped his lips closed and let his head rest back against the hammock. His hands were clenched tight around his mug, knuckles white. </p><p>Eddie waited for a response. He was determined to glare at Richie until he got one. He wasn’t going to let Richie shut down on him, fuck that. </p><p>“We’ll figure it out,” Richie said finally. It was quiet, and it wasn’t enough. </p><p>“That’s <em>not</em> an answer,” Eddie said sharply, but Richie just flung his hands out, sending hot chocolate splattering against the barn wall. </p><p>“That’s the only answer I’ve got, Eddie! I don’t know what to tell you. I’m not going to college, and you are, and I’m not willing to let this relationship end, so unless <em>you are</em>, we’ll figure it out.” </p><p>It still wasn’t an answer, and Eddie sat in silence, glaring at Richie until he lifted his head and met his gaze, eyes wide.</p><p>“Are you?” he whispered. </p><p>“Am I what?” </p><p>“Willing to let this relationship end.” </p><p>“God, <em>no</em>, Richie!” Eddie burst, his heart slamming uncomfortably. He saw their friends shift with their own discomfort, but he couldn’t be fucked to care. “That’s why I’m saying all this. <em>We’ll figure it out</em> isn’t a plan.” </p><p>“It’s the only one I’ve got, Eddie. I’m sorry, but it’s got to be enough for now!” </p><p>It <em>wasn’t</em>. Eddie let his head fall back against the hammock and closed his eyes. Richie’s legs were warm between his own, and he suddenly understood why couples didn’t want to sleep in the same bed after an argument. Even the warmth was enough to send his nerves skittering around under his skin. </p><p>The five of them sat in silence for a long, long time. </p><p>When Bill asked if anyone wanted to watch <em>Home Alone</em>, there was a relieved agreement from everyone. </p><p>Eddie never got to <em>fully</em> appreciate the hot chocolate with how bitter his mouth tasted, but he thanked Mike for it anyway before they left. </p><p>The next day, Richie was quiet again…worse than before, unable to scrounge up even a faked smile, staring out of the window through the classes Eddie had with him. He’d bet that Richie sat staring out of the window through each one, not just the ones they shared. He barely ate at lunch, didn’t even flinch when Mrs. Gazaway handed him back a genetics quiz with an angry, red <em>F</em> scrawled into the top of it. </p><p>F’s in genetics for Eddie were more commonplace than he was exactly comfortable with, but he’d never, not <em>once</em> seen Richie score lower than a B+ on his genetics quizzes (and that B+ was after his week-long flu absence). </p><p>Needless to say, the panic welled up quickly in Eddie. </p><p>By the time Thanksgiving break sat on the horizon, not even his usual cure-all of sprinting ‘til he thought he would vomit helped. In fact, he was so knotted up that he actually <em>did</em> vomit on the sidelines, the first time since his first run of freshman year. Coach looked at him like he had the plague and sent him home early. </p><p>Eddie almost refused to go. Leaving practice early, even though it meant escaping from the brutal cold in his veins, meant meandering his way into the library to wait for Mike. Meant sitting with Richie…silent. </p><p>Don’t get him wrong. He loved Richie, in all his states, all his moods, all his brash volume and slicing silence, but he’d <em>thought</em> he’d been loving him enough not to let it show how much the quiet scared him. He’d <em>thought</em> he’d been doing everything right, didn’t know what more to do to help pull Richie out of this. </p><p>All it had taken before was making it seem like he wasn’t worried, but this time, he'd tried everything. Eddie had been openly concerned about the quiet. Eddie had been aloofly ignoring the quiet. Eddie had been loud enough for the both of them. And still…</p><p>But as he’d hunched there on the sidelines, his teammates running past him without a drop of pity, Coach’s disgusted sneer still burning into him, his own puddle of sick taunting him, Eddie thought that no matter where he went, there was no good he could do. </p><p>He pushed himself to his feet, stalked off towards the locker rooms, and tried to let the steam of a too-hot shower remind him that this was his body, that this was what he could control, that he just had to hold on, show the whites of his knuckles, the grit in his teeth. Richie would come out of this, just like he had before, and they would figure it out. </p><p>Eddie scoffed at his inner monologue. They’d <em>figure it out</em>. It still wasn’t a fucking answer. </p><p>A few days later, Eddie was curled up on Stan’s couch. They were the only Losers to stay in town for the break, so Eddie’d been spending most of it—what time he could wrench away from his mother’s guilt-tripping, at least—with Stan. Today, he sat idly bouncing a paddleball. </p><p>He could remember himself at fourteen, hellacious and brittle with energy, snapping the ball right off one of these things. </p><p>Now, it bounced up and arched back down lazily, as though it too was turned sluggish by the tilted atmosphere dragging Eddie around. </p><p>Stan was folded up on the opposite couch with his French notebook propped open, pen in his mouth. There was a well of ink slowly spreading by the corner of his lips, but Eddie wasn’t going to tell him. </p><p>“What about a ping-pong table?” Eddie asked, watching the ball connect with the paddle again and again. Stan glanced up from his homework to give Eddie an annoyed and quizzical look. “For Richie’s birthday,” he clarified.</p><p>“Oh,” Stan said. He cast his gaze back down to his homework. “He’d love it, but I don’t know how much Went would appreciate you clogging his living room with a ping-pong table.” </p><p>“It could go in Richie’s room,” Eddie grumbled, though he knew Stan was right. It wasn’t a very practical gift, even though he could imagine the look of pure delight on Richie’s face as he unwrapped it—God, how do you even <em>wrap</em> a ping-pong table? </p><p>That imagined look of delight was enough to send a pang through Eddie. </p><p>He just wanted to see Richie happy again. If he could find the perfect birthday gift, maybe it would be enough to drag Richie away from this place. </p><p>Or…maybe taking him away would be enough? </p><p>Eddie sat up out of his despondent curl so fast that his paddle ball broke its arc for the first time since he’d started. </p><p>“What about the beach?” Eddie asked in a rush, the gears already whirring in his mind. </p><p>It was perfect! They could drive down, all seven of them, spend the day playing in the sand, listening to the ceaseless drum of the ocean, have another bonfire, remind Richie that he had people who loved him and people who wanted him to be happy, people who wanted to make him happy, if he’d just let them. </p><p>Stan, apparently, did not think it was perfect. He had an eyebrow raised, an amused grin playing at his lips.</p><p>“You do know that his birthday is in December, right?” </p><p>“Yeah, so?”</p><p>“So, there’s literally snow on the ground right now. What the fuck are you going to do at the beach with snow on the ground?” </p><p>“There’s probably not snow <em>on</em> the beach,” Eddie said. He had half a mind to grumble it out as a piss-poor excuse the way he had with the ping-pong table going in Richie’s room, but he couldn’t. This…this was something he believed in. He would not be dissuaded, even as Stan’s amusement fizzled. </p><p>“You’re serious?” he asked dully.</p><p>Eddie answered with a firm nod.</p><p>“Why the beach?” </p><p>“I—” Eddie started, then cut himself off. </p><p>The truth was, he was worried about Richie. A change of pace might be exactly what Richie needed. But he didn’t want to tell that to Stan. Sometimes with Stan, or Bill, or even Mike, Eddie felt like he was still learning the ropes of how to deal with Richie. After all, the three of them had been Richie’s friends longer than they’d been Eddie’s, and they’d certainly known Richie longer than Eddie had. Eddie thought that if he told them he was worried about Richie, worried enough to do something drastic like drag him to the coast in the middle of December, they might tell him not to waste his time. </p><p>But he <em>needed</em> to do this. This was something he <em>could</em> do. He was fucking tired of sitting around watching whatever was in Richie eat away at him. He was tired of being the passive bystander, loving him enough to keep his mouth shut, or whatever the fuck it was Richie wanted from him. He needed to <em>do</em> something, even if it didn’t help. At least he’d know that he tried. </p><p>“I think he’d enjoy it,” Eddie decided on finally, and after a long, considering look from Stan, he broke the stare and turned back to his homework. </p><p>“Pretty sure Ben mentioned something about a beach house. Maybe you could talk to him,” Stan said. </p><p>And just like that, Eddie had a plan.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Is it.. uh.. obvious that I've never seen snow?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Chapter 22</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Richie finds a checkers board.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is a rough one, buckos. </p><p>tws: extreme dissociation, depression, suicidal ideation</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div>
  <p>
  
    <em>December ‘93</em>
 
</p>
</div><p>His friends had planned something for his birthday. He knew that, and he knew that that knowledge should have made him happier than it did. </p><p>He didn’t know what the fuck was wrong with him. His friends were there. Eddie was there. They were <em>trying</em>, and he could see how <em>desperately</em> they wanted him to set off like a bottle rocket or a pipe organ or whatever other loud, lively thing they’d associated with the Richie who wasn’t dying.</p><p>But that was all he could think about. He was dying. He wouldn’t go to college. Wouldn’t marry Eddie. Wouldn’t see his friends go gray, his parents retire, his sister graduate. There was this whole world outside of what he had, and he’d never get to touch it. </p><p>It seemed pointless to even try.</p><p>So, when he tuned into his friends’ jittering conversation at lunch and found them talking around their weekend plans, he knew it was about his birthday on Friday, and he sat staring at the soft swoop of hair over Eddie’s ear (How long had it been since he’d gotten it cut? How long had it been since he’d combed his own hair?), waiting for the anticipation to set in so that he could give them what they wanted. </p><p>But it didn’t. There was just…fog, dissonance in his bones. </p><p>He wasn’t even sure what day it was, how long he had to prepare himself for faking the joy. </p><p>When Mike cruised into his driveway after Eddie’s practice that day, he’d not even noticed that they’d failed to drop Eddie off, and Eddie was rather politely not looking at him like he noticed the lapse. </p><p>Mike killed the truck engine, and Richie blinked, trying very hard to anchor himself in his body. </p><p>“Oh,” he said dumbly, still working to blink away the fog. “Are you guys staying for dinner?” </p><p>“Your mom didn’t tell you?” Mike asked, shouldering his way out of the truck and turning to Richie with a frown. </p><p>Had she? Had he even seen her that morning? Had he seen anyone? </p><p>He lifted a shoulder, and Mike also went on very politely not acknowledging that Richie was hanging on by a thread. He just smiled and carefully made his way up the icy steps to Richie’s front door.</p><p>“The others will be here soon,” Eddie said, tugging Richie out and after Mike. </p><p>“Others? Why?” </p><p>“For your birthday dinner,” Eddie answered, stomping his snow-crusted boots on the door mat until the sheets sloughed off. </p><p>Richie just barely stopped himself from asking if it was his birthday. </p><p>Apparently, he didn’t have much time at all to prepare for faking excitement. Of course, it was his birthday. </p><p>He’d actually made it to eighteen. </p><p>There was little joy in that. </p><p>Went, Maggie, and Nicole were in the kitchen when Richie blinked his way into the doorway with Eddie. They moved seamlessly around one another, splashing finishing touches onto dinner, laughing, a perfect unit. Richie stood to the side and thought it fitting. </p><p>Went beamed when he noticed them standing there.</p><p>“Happy birthday, son!” he said, wiping his hands on a lace-edged apron Maggie probably insisted he wear. He hugged Richie tightly, smelled like his childhood. </p><p>“Yeah, happy birthday,” Nicole chimed, flinging a pea at him. He tried to remember the last time he’d talked to her, but all he could see in his mind was her hissing into the cramped kitchen that he would hurt Eddie. It was still true, and it still sat in his chest like a boulder, and he was still so sorry for all he’d taken from her just by living. </p><p>If it was his birthday, the conversation they’d had in the kitchen had been more than a month ago, and Richie had no idea where the days had slid off to. If he’d been capable of fear, the thought that days were slipping out of his hand unaccounted for—considering how few days he knew he had left—would have petrified him. As it was, all there was, was a trembling, mournful acceptance. </p><p>“Thanks,” he answered weakly. </p><p>“Did you get lots of birthday wishes today?” Maggie asked, smiling at them over her shoulder. </p><p>Richie swallowed. Had he? He honestly didn’t know, hadn’t even known it was his birthday until Eddie had said so four minutes earlier. </p><p>“Sure,” he said finally, and Maggie turned her smile towards Eddie and Mike. </p><p>“Hi sweethearts, how are you?” she asked, hugging them in turn while Richie felt himself creeping backwards from his skin. </p><p>The doorbell jolted through him when it chimed, and Richie blinked to find himself standing in the middle of a conversation between Eddie and Nicole, Mike nodding seriously at something Went was saying, Maggie humming as she tugged plates out of the cabinet. </p><p>“I’ll get it,” he murmured and, like a ghost in his own home, slipped out of the room. </p><p>When he opened the door, Bill and Stan were grinning broadly at him, their cheeks peeking red over their scarves. Richie glanced down. He hadn’t even taken his own coat off. </p><p>“Happy b-b-birthday,” Bill said, stamping off his boots before he made his way in.</p><p>“I already told you once,” Stan said, nudging Richie. “But yeah, happy birthday.” </p><p>“Thanks,” Richie answered, and the word tasted so familiar in his mouth that he felt almost certain he’d been saying it on autopilot all day long, not even noticing. “I’ll get your coats.” </p><p>They shucked them off and passed them to Richie, making their way into the warmth of the laughing house while Richie hid in the closet—God, it’d been a while since he’d done that. </p><p>He just…he needed to get a grip, needed to be <em>present</em> in his body. He couldn’t keep slipping away like that. They’d know something was up, if they didn’t already, and he couldn’t do that to them, couldn’t lump more pain and weight onto their shoulders.</p><p>He left his coat beside Bill and Stan’s as he gathered himself, and when he reemerged, it was to the surreal sight of Beverly Marsh standing in his living room, bracketed by photos of him as a gap-toothed first-grader and Nicole rocking a truly heinous knitted sweater from their grandmother. For all the years that he’d known Beverly—what, four, five, now?—she’d never been in his house. He considered her one of his only friends, but he’d never seen her standing in socked feet, laughing with his father. </p><p>He blinked, and it seemed loud enough to draw her attention, and once it was on him, he was swallowed immediately in a squealing hug. </p><p>“Happy birthday, Trashmouth,” she cried, swaying them a little. He wasn’t sure when he’d outgrown her. </p><p>“Thanks, Bevvy,” he murmured, tucking his face down into her shoulder for just a moment. “I’m glad you’re here.” </p><p>He really tried to mean that. </p><p>She pulled back and beamed at him, looking misty, like she wanted to wax poetic about their weird little friendship, but something in his face must have stopped her. Maybe it was the knowledge of how inaccessible everything was to him, how all he had to offer her was the most performative of gratitude for her showing up. Her smile ended with pinched corners. </p><p>“How’s it feel to be eighteen?” she asked instead. “You buy your lotto ticket, yet?” </p><p>He carved out a smile and offered it to her.</p><p>“Oh, yeah. Lottery, cigarettes, porn shops. I’m living the dream.” </p><p>“Just wait ‘til you try voting. That’s where the <em>real</em> thrill is,” she said back, squeezing his bicep. </p><p>“Nothing thrills me more than performing my civic duty,” he said and felt his smile waning. </p><p>He tried to hold onto it through dinner, the last dregs of some fabricated joy as his friends and family gathered around him, celebrated him, dined to him. He even had the grace to ask about Ben’s absence, though he got nothing but a coy nose-tap from Bev in answer.</p><p>When it was over, he settled back in his chair, his half-full plate gloating over the table space before him. He expected everyone to linger and digest, continue the rambunctious chatter he’d tried with bloody nails to cling to during the meal, but nearly as soon as Stan—always the slowest eater, neat, precise—smiled his thanks at Richie's parents for the meal, each of the Losers rose from their seats.</p><p>Richie glanced up at them, startled.</p><p>“You’re leaving?” he asked, and Eddie’s answer was as steadfast as any gunshot.</p><p>“You’re coming with us, dipshit,” he said, grinning as he wrapped his palm around the back of Richie’s neck and squeezed. </p><p>He could have wept with relief, if feeling anything at all wouldn’t have left him a trembling, sobbing mess. </p><p>Richie swung his eyes over to his parents, but they were just smiling softly, clearly unsurprised.</p><p>“Happy birthday, Rich,” Maggie said softly. </p><p>And just like that, he was being herded out to Bev’s Vega, Stan and Bill calling to Mike about circling back to drop Stan’s car, Eddie nudging a duffle into Richie’s hand, and then, pavement. </p><p>“Nice car,” Eddie said from the backseat. Richie turned to glance at him, found him stationed squarely in the middle of the bench, grinning like the sun. It was a sight that should have made Richie’s stomach flip with joy, but it was so far away. </p><p>Bev, at his left, snorted. </p><p>“Car’s a piece of shit,” he heard her say. “They stopped making them like fifteen years ago because of all the recalls and general shittiness, but he’s mine, you know?” </p><p>He heard the chatter continue, heard her flip the music on, but it hardly registered. The trees blurred past, Mike’s headlights glinted in the sideview mirror, and none of it mattered. There was just the long, droning stretch of snow-shocked embankments and Richie’s unseeing gaze out of the window. </p><p>It was a lifetime before Richie blinked and found himself being pulled to his feet. Ben’s voice pushed through the muddle in his mind, bright and grating. </p><p>“Happy birthday, Rich,” he was saying, squeezing Richie tight. Over Ben’s shoulder, he could see a quaint, paint-chipped house, and beyond that, the vast, crashing emptiness of sky meeting ocean. </p><p>Even through his coat, the wind sliced up Richie’s spine, and it was enough to shock him out of his stupor. </p><p>His arms found the solid warmth of Ben’s body and squeezed.</p><p>“Thanks,” he said, still staring at the ocean, trying to make the scene fit. </p><p>Eventually, he found himself at the conclusion that his friends had brought him to the beach for his birthday. When he finally managed to tear his eyes off the horizon and his body out of Ben’s grasp, he saw Eddie smiling softly, bashfully hopeful. </p><p>Guilt coiled through him, sick and writhing. He knew that he was supposed to be excited, that <em>Eddie</em> wanted that for him. He wanted that for Eddie, wanted so much to feel good and whole and healthy. But it just wasn’t there, and he was a shit liar, he knew. </p><p>But goddamn if he wasn’t going to try. </p><p>“You brought me to the beach?” he asked Eddie, pasting as much of a smile onto his lips, into his cold-stung eyes as he could manage. </p><p>Eddie nodded, shrugged.</p><p>“Well, we all did,” he said, glancing around at the others. Mike, Bill, and Stan had apparently pulled in just behind them, and they were all standing around in the cold, shouldering their luggage and smiling softly at Richie. </p><p>And he felt nothing. </p><p>“Thanks, guys,” he said, trying <em>so</em> fucking hard to make it sound real. He found himself unable to catch even one of their eyes. “This is really…” </p><p>He didn’t know what it was, what it was <em>supposed</em> to be. So, he just reached out and took Eddie’s hand, and the soft, <em>happy</em> smile that flitted over his face, happy just because Richie had reached for him, happy just because he thought Richie loved him, it was almost enough to compensate for how shitty he felt. </p><p>“Thanks,” he murmured again. He felt it fall flat, even in his own ears, but his friends were gracious, and he didn’t deserve them, so they just shrugged his thanks away and pulled him inside. </p><p>Ben led the way, gesturing for them to leave their snow-muddied boots in the entryway. </p><p>“My aunt’s particular about her hardwoods,” he said distantly, grinning a bit and catching Richie’s eye, like he was waiting for the inevitable ribbing that would come. </p><p>There was a beat, too long, but Richie tried to scramble something up.</p><p>“Better than her being particular about your hard wood, eh?” Richie said. He’d never felt so much like his humor was a shield as he did in that moment, his friends going up into a round of groans around him, letting it slide, letting it go that he wasn’t <em>him</em> anymore. </p><p>“Gross,” Ben said. </p><p>He waved them further into the house, and much of what he gestured to—photos of fat baby Ben on the wall, conch shell curtains, a pantry chock-full of snacks—slid into Richie’s mind and back out, refusing to latch hold. </p><p>Eventually, Ben pushed open a door with two beds with throws like clouds draped across the end. </p><p>“Since Rich is the birthday boy, he gets pick of the litter, but I will tell you guys that that bed—” he pointed to the one in a soft green hue “—has incredible lumbar support.”</p><p>“Was that your childhood bed?” Stan asked, leaning against the doorframe and grinning back at Ben. </p><p>Poor guy turned red so fast it looked painful. </p><p>“Maybe.” He glanced back at Richie, damn near sheepish, and Richie realized suddenly that they were all waiting for him to make a decision. </p><p>“Er. Go for it, man,” he said, shrugging. “Your house, your rules.” Everyone stared. “Free for all?” he offered, his heart humming loudly in his ears. He hated it when they all looked at him like that, like he was letting them down, <em>worrying them</em>. </p><p>And there it went, the smallest of side-eyes passed between Stan and Mike, the kind that Richie had come to associate with a mound of guilt submerging in his veins. </p><p>Just as soon as he’d braced himself for it, it was knocked out of him by Bill practically tripping over his own feet to get out of the small room. The others scattered immediately, shouting, shoving, laughing, and Richie realized that Stan and Mike weren’t <em>looking</em> at him. They were plotting ways to get the best rooms. </p><p>Eddie was the only one who hadn’t scattered through the various doors lining Ben’s aunt’s hallway, so Richie followed him quietly when he offered his hand and tugged. </p><p>Maybe he was just sensitive. After all, he’d spent weeks so detached from the world that his eighteenth birthday, a day he’d, frankly, never believed he’d even see, had sprung up on him. Seemed only fitting that now, as the stupor and stagnation drained away in dull pulses, that he’d be a bit hypersensitive. </p><p>In the end, it didn’t really matter what bed anyone chose. Just as soon as they’d dropped their bags behind closed doors—who’d packed Richie’s, he wondered, leafing through his neatly folded t-shirts and undies, the rattling, meticulous pill organizer—Bev was dragging the fluffy throws off every mattress, Mike trailing behind with an ever-growing stash of pillows in his arms. Ben was wholly unsuspecting on the couch, leafing through holiday movies on the TV, when they both dropped their spoils on the top of his head. </p><p>“Hey!” he cried, sloughing off the nest and glaring. It wasn’t a convincing look, coming from Ben, and it died almost immediately anyway when he caught sight of Bev’s mischievous grin. Richie was leaning back against Eddie’s chest from the opposite end of the couch, and watching their smiles, their <em>eyes</em>, Richie thought Bev looked happy. And not just in some fleeting-moment-bullshit type of way, but really, truly content. She looked settled into herself in a way he’d wanted for her as long as he’d known her. </p><p>The thought made his heart beat hard in his chest, made him feel warm all over, and so, so sad. </p><p>Tears crept to his lashes as he stared at them, smiled at them smiling at each other. </p><p>He’d seen it. He’d seen Bev happy. </p><p>The secret list in his mind ripped free, and before he could gasp out that he wasn't ready yet, he wasn't ready to die, <em>See Bev happy</em> was struck through. </p><p>And like fate was trying to tell him something about the importance of—or maybe the finality of—this trip, he could just hear Stan at the door, pointing out, asking Bill if he could see the owl perched along the fence line. </p><p>Richie nodded a few times, lying to himself, telling himself that it was okay, telling himself that the list was <em>life</em> things, things he could only do while he was alive. Fate was giving him a warning bell, a chance to do it all before everything ended. He nodded, telling fate, yes, yes, he understood, he understood time was running out, clenching his eyes and his fingers around Eddie’s. </p><p>“You okay?” Eddie murmured, soft in his ear, and it took a few swallows before he managed to choke out the words. </p><p>Tears raced down his face, and he hurried to swipe them away. </p><p>“Stan, will you teach me about the birds?” he asked finally. </p><p>It was like a record scratched in the room; everyone turned to him with eyebrows hitched and dubious sets to their lips. </p><p>He stared back, sure that they would see how red-eyed he was, how broken he felt. </p><p>“You want to learn about the birds?” Stan asked after a moment. “You?” </p><p>“I like birds,” Richie mumbled, trying to still his frantic breathing, the panic that it was ending. He turned his gaze studiously down to the soft curve of Eddie’s fingers, the perfect crescent moons. </p><p>Silence beat and beat, and Richie sat in it, staring down at Eddie’s fingers, trying not to think about anything at all. </p><p>“Yeah,” Stan said slowly. “Alright.” </p><p>When Richie glanced up, Stan was tucking down into the ready-made nest of pillows and blankets and watching Richie carefully. </p><p>“What do you want to know?” he asked, and Richie shrugged. </p><p>“Whatever it is you like about them.” </p><p>Once Stan started talking, it was like the world swam into a hazy focus. Ben struck a match in the fireplace, and the Losers settled in around Stan in the blanket mottle, heads on thighs, arms tangled, none differentiating as Stan’s voice lulled and lulled. </p><p>They all fell asleep there, Richie with his cheek pressed into Stan’s shoulder, Eddie curled under his elbow, Bev carding through his hair, Mike’s knees bracketing his ankle, Ben’s, his spine, Bill, holding his hand. He loved them all so, so much, and he would miss them, if missing was a thing that could happen wherever he’d go at the end of this trip. </p><p>He thought, even if it wasn’t, that he would find a way to miss them and to love them. </p><p>The next morning, Richie woke up feeling clearer than he had in a long time. He was still caught in the middle of their massive Loser-dog-pile, and there were at least three too-knobby elbows jabbing him in tender places, but it was warm, and it grounded him when he felt like this new clarity was razor sharp. </p><p>Nonetheless, fate had given him the warning, and he wasn't wasting it. He had his list.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>1.	Go for a polar bear swim.<br/>
2.	Beat Mike at checkers.<br/>
3.	<strike>Learn about the birds.</strike><br/>
4.	Adopt a turtle.<br/>
5.	Make Bill so annoyed he forgets his stutter.<br/>
6.	<strike>See Bev happy (preferably with Ben).</strike><br/>
7.	Bake with Eddie.</p>
</blockquote><p>He had his list, and he had a plan.</p><p>It began at breakfast, for which Stan and Ben had whipped up a profound amount of toast, scrambled eggs, and turkey sausage.</p><p>Getting Bill pissed off enough to forget his stutter was as simple as stating—with complete accuracy, in Richie’s opinion—that Henry David Thoreau was overrated. It devolved from there and ended with Bill shouting, never stumbling, that, <em>It didn’t matter Thoreau’s Walden experience was practically within spitting distance of his mother’s house, it was the principle of the adventure!</em> </p><p>Richie snickered and pretended like slashing another thing off the list he’d spent years carefully preserving didn’t make him feel unhinged and pendulating wildly. </p><p>Not that anyone <em>knew</em> about the list, or what it meant to him. No one knew that once he finished the list, he’d be done with life. If they had, they probably wouldn’t have been so indulgent with his seemingly random whims. </p><p>They led him to the frigid water’s edge, cheered as he dove in, cheered as the blinding cold shocked him to state of near panic, wrapped him in hugs and towels and blankets when he emerged, and didn’t ask why the salty droplets on his cheeks were warm as tears. </p><p>They drove him into town, to the nearest pet store. They mooned over baby bunnies, twirled strung-up feathers around for the cats, pointed in unanimous support when Richie asked which turtle he should adopt. (He didn’t end up adopting her. It felt mean to bring something else into his life, only to die. He named her Delia in his mind and marked her off the list.) </p><p>They sat around the dining room table, chatting about the incoming rain, about the most qualified of Santa’s reindeer—Blitzen was the apparent consensus—while Eddie poked the tip of his tongue between his lips, a measuring cup held at eye level, that determined little crease between his brows. The oven was pre-heating. They were baking brownies, and Eddie didn’t let Richie lick the bowl because, salmonella. </p><p>And when the brownies came out of the oven, a little goopy on the inside and snappy on top, Richie tried to act like they didn’t taste like stones in his mouth. </p><p>No one else seemed to have a problem eating them—the whole pan was gone before they’d completely cooled—but then again, no one else felt this weight dragging them down. </p><p>And once the baking was done, there was only item left on his list. </p><p>His voice shook when he asked. </p><p>“Mikey, you wanna play checkers with me?” </p><p>Mike glanced up from across the table, and all it took was once real, solid look at Richie for his whole face to morph into suspicion. </p><p>“I don’t have a board,” he said, and each syllable bounded from him like a greyhound, like a gunshot. It didn’t sound, to Richie, like they were talking about checkers, but he knew it was just his paranoia clenching its fists around him. </p><p>“There’s one in the closet,” Ben said easily, pushing himself up out of his chair and entirely missing the admonishing look Mike sent his way. </p><p>When Ben returned with the board, Mike had a hard clench to his jaw. </p><p>“I’m not playing with you,” he said, and there was a cord of steel in his voice. </p><p>Richie stared at him, brows furrowed, trying to make it make sense. </p><p>“I-I-I’ll play with you, Rich,” Bill offered, already reaching for the board, but Richie smacked his hand onto the top of the box. </p><p>“It has to be Mike,” he said. He didn’t tear his eyes off Mike, but he didn’t need to see the confused, concerned glances being traded. Then, Bev shrugged, wandered back to the board game closet with Bill following. They settled in the living room behind them with a stack of games, and slowly, Ben, Stan, and Eddie broke away from the checkers table. </p><p>Mike just stared at him, arms crossed, unrelenting. </p><p>And suddenly, he remembered, like a half-formed déjà vu. He’d had a surgery, didn’t remember which one, didn’t really matter, and he was sitting in the dark, everything was dark. Mike sat vigil by his side. They couldn’t have been more than fourteen. </p><p>“You’re on my bucket list,” Richie had mumbled, pain meds swimming through his veins. “Beating you at checkers.” </p><p>“You won’t beat me. I’m the checkers king,” Mike had answered loftily, but even at fourteen, it had sounded sad to his ears. </p><p>“That’s the hope,” he’d mumbled, too tired, too unwilling to explain that his bucket list wasn’t a bucket list so much as it was a collection of unfinished business, strings tying him to life, keeping him there. He’d gone back to sleep and had woken up the next day, and every day after that, for four years, with the memory buried. </p><p>So, Mike knew. Mike knew, and he had his arms crossed, and he was refusing to touch the board as Richie carefully laid out piece by piece. The only sound was the muted thump of each disk coming to rest in its designated square, the muffled voices of their friends in the next room. </p><p>“Do this for me, Mikey,” Richie whispered, as the last piece found its home. </p><p>“No.” </p><p>“It’s just a game.” </p><p>“You know it isn’t.” </p><p>“Only if I win,” Richie answered, sitting back in his chair with an unrelenting knot in his throat. </p><p>Mike stared and stared. The tears seemed to form almost from nothing. </p><p>“Come on, Mikey,” Richie whispered, the words garbling against his thick tongue. </p><p>After a moment that seemed to last an eternity, Mike sucked in a deep breath and clenched his eyes closed, and when he opened them, they were trained on the game board. He made the first move. </p><p>They made it through three games, Mike winning every time, neither saying a word, before Eddie wandered back over after a raucous Pictonary win. He perched across Richie’s thighs, wrapped an arm around his shoulders.</p><p>“Have you guys just been playing checkers this whole time?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. </p><p>“Richie’s being fucking stubborn,” Mike growled, double-jumping two of his pieces. </p><p>“You don’t have to play,” Eddie said, grinning. His hand raked absently through the hair on Richie’s neck, and it made him feel like he was being seared alive. </p><p>“If I forfeit, he wins,” Mike said. </p><p>“You could just <em>let</em> me win,” Richie suggested holding Eddie as tight as he could with one arm, sawing away at the last string holding him to life with the other. </p><p>“Not happening,” Mike snapped, glaring at him. “Is this all you want to do, Richie? Play checkers?” </p><p>What he meant was, is there nothing left for you? There's nothing else you want to do before you give it all up?</p><p>“I’ve done everything else,” he said with a shrug. Pretended not to hear how his voice shook. </p><p>After he won, he would curl up with Eddie, and that would be it. He could already feel his heart stuttering. </p><p>Mike’s hand froze, hovering over his piece. </p><p>“Everything?” </p><p>Richie nodded, wound both arms around Eddie’s waist. Held him as tightly as he could. </p><p>“Ow, Rich,” he wheezed, squirming. “You’re gonna break me.” </p><p>Richie nodded again. He knew. Pressed his lips against the swell of Eddie’s shoulder. </p><p>“Fuck you, Richie,” Mike said. It came out flattened by hurt. </p><p>Mike won the game, the next, the next. </p><p>Eventually, the other Losers dragged their pillows back to their bedrooms, squeezed the others goodnight, and it was Mike, Richie, and Eddie, curled up in uncomfortable dining room chairs playing the fifteenth game of checkers. </p><p>Richie’s eyelids drooped, and he was eighty-five percent sure that Eddie was already asleep in the chair beside him, drooling steadily on Richie’s shoulder. </p><p>“Feel free to go to bed, Rich,” Mike said. “Let this one stay on the list for a while.” </p><p>“I’m not tired,” he lied. “Besides, I’m getting the hang of this.” And he was. Richie’d always been a quick study, had always had a knack for patterns and anticipating his opponents. Eddie snuffled softly against him, and Richie was learning how to beat Mike. </p><p>He took down two of his kings in a single move, and he heard Mike’s swallow.</p><p>“Don’t do this,” Mike whispered. </p><p>“Do you think I want to?” </p><p>“I think you’re giving up.” </p><p>“I’m not,” Richie shot back, his voice soft even in its veracity. “There’s a difference between accepting the inevitable and giving up.” </p><p>“I don’t see it.” </p><p>“You wouldn’t.” Richie snapped another of Mike’s pieces up. His count was dwindling, and Eddie was warm against him. </p><p>“What about him?” Mike nodded towards Eddie. </p><p>“He’ll be okay.” Richie tried not to feel like it was a lie. If he spent too long thinking about what would happen to Eddie at the end of all this…well, he was already in a dark place. He couldn’t afford thoughts like that. </p><p>But it lingered, even as he claimed another of Mike’s army, the thought lingered. Richie was winning, and the thought of hurting Eddie, hurting all of them, lingered like smoke in the air.</p><p>“And what about me?” Mike whispered. He wasn’t looking up at Richie, was just staring down with wet eyes at the last of his pieces. “You’re my best friend, Rich. I…” </p><p>“Please, don’t,” Richie choked out. “Please.” </p><p>“What am I supposed to do?” </p><p>A sob choked out into the small quiet they’d made, and Eddie startled awake, looked around blearily. </p><p>“Hey, Mike,” Eddie said, already rising to comfort him. “What’s wrong?” </p><p>Richie watched, swallowing down his own tears again and again. </p><p>“You’ll be okay, Mike,” Richie said, but his voice cracked over it. “You have to be.” </p><p>Eddie hugged Mike to him and stared over at Richie in bewilderment. </p><p>“Jeez, you’d think you’d never lost at checkers in your life,” he teased gently, squeezing tight around Mike’s trembling shoulders. </p><p>Richie claimed his victory. It didn’t feel good. Didn't feel freeing. Felt like the last nail in his over-stuffed coffin.</p><p>When they parted for bed, Mike wrapped Richie into a hug so tight it ached. </p><p>“You don’t have to do this,” he said again, pressing his face down into Richie’s shoulder. </p><p>Richie mirrored the hold. </p><p>“Thanks, Mike,” he whispered. He meant, thank you for the win, thank you for being there for me, thank you for being my best friend, thank you for being you. “I love you.” </p><p>“Richie, please.” </p><p>“Just say it back, asshole.” </p><p>Mike choked out another sob, and his hold on Richie tightened to a critical level. But he said it back.</p><p>“I love you, Rich.” </p><p>“Good.” Richie slapped his back and pulled away. </p><p>“I’ll see you in the morning?” Mike asked, straightening and swiping at his eyes again. </p><p>Richie tried to smile. He didn’t know what was left for him, but he was grateful to the universe for giving him warning enough to finish his list, to spend a few hours with his friends. </p><p>“Goodnight,” Richie said eventually, then turned for the door Eddie had slipped off into. </p><p>He tried to leave the volatile emotions out in the hall, his scene with Mike, the tears, the weight, but when he opened the door and saw Eddie already nestled down under the blankets, it was all he could do to keep from sobbing all over again. </p><p>If saying goodbye to Mike, in whatever form that meant, had been <em>that</em> difficult, he didn’t know how he’d get through a goodbye with Eddie. </p><p>Richie kicked off his shoes and curled up against Eddie in one of the twin beds. </p><p>There was another bed in the room, and they’d probably both sleep better if they slept apart themselves, but Richie needed this. He needed it. And Eddie welcomed him with open arms like he knew. </p><p>He flung the blankets around Richie’s shoulders and tucked him down under his chin, nestled right in the heart of his warmth. </p><p>Richie tried very much to let the manic, desperate energy ease out on an exhale, but it rattled against his sternum. </p><p>Eddie held him tight. It was everything he’d ever wanted.</p><p>“I want to live and die right here,” Richie whispered into the soft hollow of Eddie’s collarbone. The arms holding him turned to iron, seemingly on reflex. Richie had half a mind to take it as an acceptance, as permission. But then, he heard Eddie’s breath hiss out between his teeth.</p><p>“Don’t say that, Richie,” he said firmly, and Richie flinched like he’d been slapped. "I don’t…I don’t want that,” he went on, sounding like the words were tripping out of him. “You can’t die in my arms, I’d, I’ll—” </p><p>Eddie choked, sucked in a sharp, trembling breath.</p><p>And suddenly, the full weight of what he’d done slammed into Richie, clenched and churned in his chest. </p><p>He’d damned them both.</p><p>It was pure selfishness, trying to keep Eddie as long as he had. He’d tried to ignore it, tried not to see how fatal it was, this thing that had blossomed, that had turned rotten between them. Tried not to see how much he was hurting Eddie just by loving him, how much he would hurt Eddie, in the end.</p><p>His jaw went tight and sore from how hard he was clenching it. Eddie's breath trembled distantly in his ears.</p><p>He'd ignored what was coming for them, and it had festered. He'd been selfish, selfish, so fucking selfish, and now, Eddie's breath was barreling through him, hurt just by the thought of what Richie would put him through.</p><p>But he wouldn't. He wouldn't do that to him. He could salvage this. He could fix the agony rippling through Eddie's breath. It would mean tearing out his own heart, but it would be better than leaving Eddie to watch him die.</p><p>With a whimper from Atlas himself, Richie forced himself out of Eddie’s arms, out of the bed.</p><p> The world swayed when he stood upright, and Eddie’s hands reached for him, his fingertips brushing against Richie’s wrist, fire shooting down the length of Richie's arm, ratcheting around under his flesh, through his veins.  </p><p>His heart was stumbling, cracking. Richie wanted to live and die in Eddie’s arms, but he was there to leave a beautiful corpse. He didn't know how he'd forgotten.</p><p>“Richie,” Eddie whimpered, his voice broken like he <em>knew</em> what was coming, the sound stabbing into Richie’s chest. </p><p>The ache of that sound, it felt like a heart attack. He would know.</p><p>“I want to break up,” Richie said, and the words flew out of him, shamefully, painfully uninhibited, final. </p><p>They'd been simmering under his tongue right from the start. He was there to leave a beautiful corpse, not a beautiful widow, and he didn't know why he'd let himself forget. He loved Eddie, had never, ever wanted to hurt him, and this, this was the worst pain Richie'd ever known, but he'd bear it a hundred times over if it meant that Eddie wouldn't hurt.</p><p>“Richie,” Eddie choked, horrified like he’d been struck. His name was half a wail. </p><p>“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I should have never let you love me." He hated himself. He hurt all over, head swimming, heart screaming. There was nothing to see for the tears clouding his vision. "I’m so sorry. I’d take it all back if I could, I swear, Eds. I won’t hurt you anymore.” He hated himself, felt his tongue running away from him, the tears streaming down his face, the door slamming into his back. </p><p>The world swayed around him, unsteady, but his fingers found the knob, the knob turned, and he left the perfect little room in that perfect little beach house, left behind the sound of Eddie’s frantic voice, far away, indecipherable through the livid slam of his heart. </p><p>Richie stumbled in the hallway, his vision swimming. </p><p>The last thing he thought before he collapsed onto the hardwoods Ben's aunt was so particular about was, <em>Oh, fuck. Maybe this really is a heart attack</em>.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>(this is me hiding from your rage) (but also, feel free to yell at me, I totally deserve it)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Chapter 23</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Richie wants to say goodbye.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Kinda disappointed no one came at me with death threats after last chapter, smh.</p><p>tws: blood, CPR, broken bone, panic attack</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div>
  <p>
  
    <em>December ‘93</em>
 
</p>
</div><p>Richie left the door open. </p><p>He’d said the words—Eddie wasn’t thinking them, he wasn’t, they’d work past this—and he’d stumbled backward, tears on his face, knocked into the door. Tugged it open. Eddie saw how his hands shook. And when he turned, when he snapped the bridge of their eyes, he left the door open. </p><p>The only thing Eddie could do was watch as Richie crumpled. </p><p>There was a breath, a fraction of a second in which Eddie just stared, slack-jawed and confused and horrified, at the heap of Richie’s body across the hallway, the shaft of light from their still-open door making it impossible to see anything else. </p><p>Then, he was at Richie’s side, shaking him, screaming his name, screaming for Bev, for Ben, for help, help, God, please help him. He wasn’t <em>ready</em>, he didn’t want to hold death in his arms. </p><p>Richie’s eyes rolled back in his head. He’d lost his glasses in the fall, busted open the lined plane of his top lip. Tears were still wet on his face. </p><p>“Move, move,” a voice barked in Eddie’s ear, before he was bodily urged aside. </p><p>He landed hard on his haunches and looked up through the still-streaming tears to see Ben kneeling over Richie, rolling him onto his back. He pressed his fingers under Richie’s jaw and searched for the pulse Eddie’d stood restless watch over, the hum he’d sworn to protect. </p><p>Ben gave no indication as to whether or not it was there. Just laced his fingers together, locked his elbows, and started compressions. </p><p>Bev skidded onto the scene a breath later, wild-eyed, hair a knotted nest on top of her head. </p><p>“What do you need?” she asked Ben, dropping to her knees on the other side of Richie. Her pale shoulders in the shadows cut off Eddie’s view of the blood trickling from Richie’s split lip. </p><p>“He's unconscious. Make sure he stays breathing and ventilation if he doesn’t,” Ben said, huffing the words out around the force of his hands. </p><p>“Is he gonna stop breathing?!” Eddie screeched, scrambling up and crowding them in his panic. Bev pushed him back firmly, both hands on his shoulders. </p><p>“Eddie, find the phone and call 911.” </p><p>“Is he going to stop breathing?!” Eddie asked again, his own lungs clouding in fear. </p><p>“Eddie, 911. <em>Now,</em>” she said, her voice level. </p><p>He might have believed her calm if her hands weren’t shaking against his shoulders, if her eyes weren’t darting wildly between his. </p><p>“Go,” she said, squeezing him. </p><p>Eddie glanced down at Richie, his body jerking with every compression, bloody lips hung open. </p><p>Then, he scrabbled away, turning the corner of the hallway quickly enough that he didn’t register Bill and Mike standing there until he was crashing headlong into them. </p><p>They caught him, and they held him as a sob wracked through him. </p><p>“Richie, he—” he tried, but the words, the admission, the guilt, it all got clogged in him, all got muddled, and he choked. </p><p>“It’s g-g-going to be okay,” Bill said, and though he was nowhere near as practiced in keeping a collective head as Bev or Ben, it was a good effort, and his arms were steady around Eddie. </p><p>“I need to call an ambulance,” Eddie gasped, clinging to Bill.</p><p>“Stan’s already on it,” Mike told him. </p><p>“Someone get the lights,” Bev called, and suddenly, the whole scene, Richie laid out with his heart failing, his friends trying desperately to stop it from happening, the paleness of him, it was all vividly, terrifyingly illuminated. </p><p>Eddie couldn’t watch. Couldn’t look away. Knew he’d see <em>this</em>, this moment of Richie on the brink of death in his nightmares for the rest of eternity, even after Richie recovered and they were alright again. </p><p>Bev hissed a curse and leaned down, sealing her mouth over his. His chest expanded, and a sickening crack singed through the air. Eddie’s stomach turned. It was a rib. </p><p>Richie’s heart was failing him, and now, his ribs were breaking, and there was no end in sight, just Ben grimacing and Bev pushing air into his lungs.</p><p>“Shit, sorry, Rich,” Ben huffed, never slowing. “You’re gonna be pissed in the morning.” </p><p>“The ambulance will be here in ten,” Stan said, appearing at Eddie’s elbow looking pale and shaky.</p><p>“Ten’s not so bad, huh, Rich?” Ben said, smiling a thin, unbelievable smile. There was sweat lining his brow. “Bev, check his pulse again, please.” </p><p>Beverly lifted her face away from Richie’s and did as he asked. She pressed under his jaw, shifted, pressed harder. </p><p>“It’s faint, irregular,” she said, after the longest pause of Eddie’s life, and the words sparked through him, lit the panic to a blaze as he stood there helpless. She leaned back down, breathed into Richie’s mouth. </p><p>“Alright,” Ben said, nodding, eyes down on his hands. “Alright,” he said again. </p><p>It seemed much more for his own benefit than anyone else’s. </p><p>“What can we do, Ben?” Stan asked quietly. He was holding Eddie’s wrist, knuckles white. All Eddie could see was Richie’s drained face, the sharp streak of blood. </p><p>“Anyone know that Bee Gees song?” Ben huffed, and when no one answered, he started singing it under his breath, off-key and out of air. </p><p><em>Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive</em>. </p><p>It was so ridiculous that a hysteric, heartbroken laugh ripped through Eddie, and suddenly, he was sobbing again. Mike curled an arm around his shoulders and squeezed.</p><p>It felt like a lifetime before the paramedics arrived, but once they were there, Richie was loaded onto a stretcher and rushed into the ambulance before Eddie could ask if he would be okay. </p><p>Ben fell backwards, once Richie was strapped down, and pressed his exertion-wrung hands to his face. Bev, after she'd finished giving the paramedics Richie's details, squeezed his shoulder, long and firm.</p><p>“You did good, Ben,” she murmured, and he nodded out a shaky exhale. Nodded again. </p><p>“Come on,” he said after a beat, pushing himself upright. He looked at Eddie, Stan, Mike, Bill, at their terrified, uncertain faces. “Let’s follow the ambulance.” </p><p>Bev and Ben, each with two additional Losers in their vehicles, drove like bats out of hell to keep up with the ambulance. Eddie, rigid and petrified in the front seat of Ben’s Jeep, might have held at least a modicum of concern for their health under literally any other circumstances. But, as it was, all he could think about was Richie. Wondering if this was somehow his fault. Pleading with whatever higher power may be that Richie lives to take back what he said that night, to graduate high school, to grow old. </p><p>The lights from the ambulance in front of them and Ben’s own flashing hazards created a cacophony of light on the pavement, and Eddie was suddenly struck by how lucky they were to have been where they were, to have been surrounded by the people they had been surrounded by. </p><p>The clawing image tore back into his mind, but this time, while Richie fell and Eddie called for help, there was no one around that could make any difference whatsoever. He choked on the thought.</p><p>“Thank you,” Eddie gasped into the otherwise silence. </p><p>Ben glanced over at him, his knuckles clenched white through his red-marked skin. </p><p>“You don’t have to thank me, Eddie. I care about him, too.” </p><p>Eddie nodded, the scene still flickering before him. He tried to blink it away. “I know,” he said. “I know you do. I’m just grateful. So…thank you.” </p><p>Ben swallowed, nodded.</p><p>“You’re welcome,” he said after a beat. </p><p>Eddie felt Mike’s hand slide through the gap between his seatback and the window, and Eddie reached up to clutch it. They drove the rest of the way in silence, Eddie clinging to Mike’s hand, Mike clinging back, Ben clutching the steering wheel. </p><p>When they finally got to the hospital, Richie was rushed away—again—before Eddie could demand whether or not he was okay. </p><p>He tried, though, and found himself screaming for answers at the nurse who told him he couldn’t follow until he was just sobbing at her. </p><p>The full trauma of what he’d just witnessed crashed into him all at once, and suddenly, the only thing keeping him on his feet were the arms of the Losers around him. </p><p>They hugged him, and they cried together. </p><p>Eventually, they all fell restlessly into the chairs of the emergency room’s waiting area. It was the middle of the night, and though each one of them had dark circles under their eyes, no one slept. No one spoke. </p><p>They just held hands like an unbreakable daisy chain of hope for Richie’s life. </p><p>Eddie sat listening to the clock tick behind them for some time, trying not to think about whatever was happening to Richie behind the closed doors. After an hour or so, three new figures burst into the waiting room, their eyes casting wildly about. </p><p>Guilt ripped through Eddie so quickly that it made his head spin. Richie’s family was there, and he hadn’t thought to call them, not even once. </p><p>Maggie, Went, and Nicole, when their gazes landed on the six Losers sitting there helplessly, rushed towards them. </p><p>“What happened?” Maggie asked, her voice frantic in a way that Eddie’d never seen. Even the last time he stood with her in an emergency waiting room—when Bowers had snapped Richie’s stitches—she’d been cool and teasing. But then again, Richie had been there then, alive and safe under her palms. </p><p>And now…</p><p>Beverly’s voice ripped him from his fear spiral, forced him to swallow down the lump of tears. </p><p>“He went into sudden cardiac arrest,” she was saying. “Ben and I did CPR until the ambulance got there. They took him back about an hour ago.” </p><p>“Any news?” Went asked. He too looked worse for wear, ragged and unkempt with his shirt untucked and hair uncombed. </p><p>Eddie could see Ben shaking his head.</p><p>“Not yet. They told us they were going to stabilize him and run tests, but we haven’t heard anything.” </p><p>“Run tests?” Maggie asked, her voice sharp. “What tests haven’t they already run on the kid?” </p><p>“That’s what I said,” Stanley muttered from the far end of their daisy chain. </p><p>Maggie didn’t acknowledge him, just brought a trembling hand to her forehead and stared searchingly at Bev. </p><p>“How did this happen? It’s the middle of the night. What was he even <em>doing</em>?” </p><p>Eddie felt the knot swelling in his throat again, the tears racing up in him. This was <em>his</em> fault. If he’d never told Richie he didn’t want him to die in his arms, this never would have happened. They’d have gone to sleep, and they’d have woken up, and they would have gone home. </p><p>But things had just been so <em>good</em>. Richie had <em>been there</em>, a little skittish, yes, but he looked like he’d <em>seen them</em>, for the first time in weeks, and it was so syrup-sweet that the thought that he would lose Richie, and like that, it was impossible to stomach, impossible to let slip into the world without a fervent denial on his part.</p><p>But all he’d really told the world was that he wasn’t strong enough to love Richie the way he needed to be loved, and now, they were all paying the price.</p><p>Bev shifted her weight and broke eye contact with Maggie. </p><p>“It’s my fault,” Eddie whispered, clenching his eyes closed. </p><p>“Eddie, <em>no</em>,” Ben said firmly, but Eddie shook his head, held tight to Bill’s hand, to Mike’s. </p><p>The tears were falling in earnest again, choking him as he pushed the words through them. </p><p>“It is.” </p><p>“Eddie,” Stan tried softly, but he just shook his head faster. “Eddie, you know it’s not your fault.” </p><p>When Eddie wrenched his hands free, he immediately felt like he’d broken a sacred thing. But it was too late. He’d broken it, just like he’d broken his relationship with Richie, all in a moment of fear. </p><p>He stood up with gasping breaths, chest tight. He could feel the panic hooking itself down into the meat of his shoulders and tugging, his flesh crawling with it. </p><p>“It <em>is</em>,” he insisted around the heaving in his lungs. “It is. I…I upset him, and he said…he said something <em>he didn’t mean</em>, and then he walked out of the room, and he left the door open, and he…he collapsed. It’s my fault.” </p><p>In that moment, he felt locking eyes with Maggie, with Went, was its own brand of torture. But he would never forgive himself if he didn’t apologize to them for what he’d done. He wasn't sure he'd ever forgive himself anyway.</p><p>“I’m so sorry,” he cried, and once the words were out, he couldn’t stand there staring at them for another second. </p><p>He was racing out of the emergency room before another voice could register. </p><p>The frigidity of the night slammed into Eddie so quickly that it sucked the last of whatever air he’d had in his lungs clean out of him. </p><p>When he slid down against the emergency room’s cinder-block walls, trembling with cold and terror, he realized in some distant part of his mind that he’d left his coat at Ben’s aunt’s house. </p><p>It didn’t take long for a second set of trembling, puffing breaths to cloud the airspace beside Eddie’s, and when he glanced up, Richie’s father was staring softly back at him. </p><p>He crouched down beside Eddie and planted a firm hand on his shoulder. The weight of his touch, so undeserved and absolving in Eddie’s guilt, simultaneously ripped through him and bound him back together. </p><p>“Son,” Went started gently. “You know that there’s <em>no one</em> to blame for Richie’s heart being the way that it is, right?” Went swallowed, and he had Richie’s dark-lined eyes in the pulsing bay lights. “It took me a long time to understand that. Sometimes, it’s still easier to blame someone else, sometimes the doctors, sometimes myself, sometimes even Richie… But in a way, that’s easier to stomach than accepting that bad things happen to good people with no rhyme or reason.” </p><p>For a long moment, Eddie just stared up at him, both of their breaths shaking out into the uncaring night. There Richie’s father crouched, telling Eddie that there was no vengeance to be had, no justice to enact. No recourse for when life finally decided that it had put too much joy, too much hope, too much light into the world through Richie and decided to snuff it back out again.</p><p>“What are we supposed to do?” Eddie begged finally, the words falling out in devastated heaves. </p><p>Went gave him a soft, sad smile and murmured, “Love him anyway.” </p><p>“He doesn’t want me to,” he said, finally breaking against the sobs. </p><p>Richie’d said so himself. </p><p><em>I’d take it all back if I could, I swear</em>. </p><p>Richie’d said it, and Eddie had been so, so desperate not to hear it, not to <em>feel</em> it, but now, it was slamming into him. Richie didn’t want his love anymore, and Eddie didn’t know what to do with all that was coursing through him if it wasn’t to give to Richie. It just poured out of him, shattered against the concrete between his feet and Went’s. </p><p>“Well,” Went said softly. “Richie’s not as smart as he thinks he is.” </p><p>His voice held the smallest lilt of a joke, but he sounded so scraped-tired to Eddie’s ears that it barely registered. Went sighed and wrapped an arm around Eddie’s trembling shoulders, and when he pulled Eddie close, all he could think about was his own father and Richie and all that he’d lost and all that he would lose still. </p><p>“Can I tell you a secret?” Went asked and didn’t wait for a reply before continuing. “I think Richie’s a lot like me, in all the worst ways. I blame myself for his heart, and he blames himself for the pain his heart brings. He doesn’t want to hurt the people that he loves.” </p><p>Went let go of Eddie so that he could pull back and lock eyes with him. Eddie swallowed, horrified to think what he was probably seeing. Just a heartbroken, terrified mess in the freezing cold. </p><p>“He does love you, Eddie,” Went said seriously. “No matter what he’s saying right now. If he’s giving up, then we have to fight <em>for</em> him. Do you understand?” </p><p>A shiver racked through Eddie, but he nodded. He was petrified, but he did understand. This was exactly what Mike had warned him about so long ago. He’d let it slip how scared he was, and Richie had pulled the rip cord. And while Eddie was <em>hurt</em>, was afraid, was a big knot of bad feelings, he could fight for Richie. He would. </p><p>Went nodded. </p><p>“Good. Now, you must be freezing. Let’s get you inside, yeah?” Went groaned as he pushed himself to his feet, cracking audibly in the dead-morning quiet. “Old bones,” he huffed, rubbing the joint for a moment before stretching the hand out to Eddie and hauling him up beside him. </p><p>“Thank you,” Eddie whispered, larger than the hand up, and Went smiled at him. </p><p>“Let’s go see if there’s any news.” </p><p>So, they did, and there was. </p><p>Maggie, flanked by Nicole and the Losers, was talking seriously with a blue-scrubbed nurse when they made their way back into the emergency bay. She wasn’t hysterically sobbing, which, honestly, after the night Eddie’d had, was really all that he could hope for. </p><p>The nurse finished up just before Went and Eddie joined the huddle, and she stepped away with a parting, thin-lipped smile at the group. Maggie turned when Went wrapped an arm around her waist. </p><p>“They’ve got him stable,” Maggie said, and the air left Eddie in a great gush. Bill gripped his hand, and it was the only thing that kept him tethered to the earth. Maggie went on, “It was SCA, like Beverly said, and they’re going to monitor him for the night. I asked if they would transfer him back to Bangor, so they’re going to call Dr. Warner in the morning for a consultation. She said we could see him for a little while in the meantime.” </p><p>Went nodded, and without another word, he, Maggie, and Nicole shifted towards the bay doors the hospital staff had raced Richie through earlier. </p><p>Eddie froze, clutching Bill’s hand, wanting so desperately to follow, unsure whether he’d be wanted. </p><p>Maggie paused just before the doors and turned back to them, her eyes finding Eddie’s.</p><p>“You guys coming?” she asked. </p><p>One corner of her mouth lifted knowingly, and not for the first time, he was struck by how much of Richie was present in her, in both of his parents. He loved Richie so much it hurt, and he loved Richie’s parents, too, in their own right, just for giving Richie to the world. </p><p>Eddie was the first to break free, and soon enough, all six of the Losers standing in the waiting room were winding through the hallways towards Richie. </p><p>When they finally found him, it took everything in Eddie not to shove all the others aside and bound into his arms. Everything in him unclenched, and where, out in the waiting room, news of Richie being stable had nearly sent him off the earth, Richie sitting there <em>alive</em>, awake, smiling sheepishly at them all around his split lip and bruised cheekbone, he was the only thing in the world. He <em>was</em> the world. </p><p>The others seemed to be experiencing something of the same cosmic fullness, but they apparently hadn’t made it past the urge to shove others aside to fling themselves at him. </p><p>Nicole was the first to land on Richie’s legs with a great <em>whump</em> from the bed. Richie yelped when she connected, but it was a happy sound. He brought a hand up and petted her hair. </p><p>“Hey, Nick,” he said, and she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed. </p><p>This time, when he yelped, it was sharp enough to have her reeling back and everyone else frowning in concern. </p><p>His eyes, squinted and vulnerable without his glasses, widened a bit. </p><p>“My, uh, my rib’s broken,” he said, grimacing as he shifted out from under her. </p><p>“Yeah,” Ben said, dragging a hand down his neck and frowning. “That’s my fault. I’m sorry.” </p><p>Richie lifted a shoulder gingerly. </p><p>“They always say you’re not doing it hard enough if you’re not breaking ribs.” </p><p>“Still,” Ben said. </p><p>“Honestly, I’ll take a broken rib over the alternative, Benji my boy.” Richie smiled, but it wasn’t happy, and it turned and turned in Eddie. </p><p>All the joy that had crashed through Eddie at seeing Richie again was still simmering through him, but it was suddenly dampened by the thought that Richie had given up. </p><p>The hand that had been reaching for him on instinct fell limply back against Eddie's thigh, and he stood there feeling very large for his body. </p><p>Stan was the next to impede on Richie’s personal space. He settled in on Richie’s other side, wrapped a protective arm around his shoulders, and smacked him soundly on the back of his head.</p><p>“You scared the fuck out of us, Trashmouth,” he said, then tucked Richie’s head under his chin.</p><p>“Sorry,” Richie said. </p><p>Then it was Mike, settling in between Richie’s knees and Stan’s, squeezing the bony, perfect hand that was offered him. Then it was Maggie, pushing her own hand through Richie’s mottled curls, Went, settling in behind Nicole, Bill, wrapping an arm around Stan to squeeze Richie’s shoulder, Bev reaching around Maggie to slide his glasses back into his face, Ben, settling his palms against Richie’s ankles. </p><p>Eddie stood apart from it all, wishing so desperately that he had just a smidge of that old Richie bravery, just enough to take his hand again, to break through what had happened and let him know that he <em>wasn’t</em> giving up on them. </p><p>When Richie’s eyes met his, it was like Eddie’d been struck. The air left him in a rush, and he tried to settle the rattling anxiety in his bones by smiling at Richie. </p><p>He wasn’t sure how convincing it was, and judging by the small frown on Richie’s lips, the answer was not at all. </p><p>Richie tore his eyes away, glanced around at those holding him, and squeezed Mike’s hand, Bev’s hand. </p><p>“Would it be okay if I talked to Eddie for a minute?” he asked them softly, and though everyone was quick to nod, to hold him a little bit tighter just before letting him go, it was undeniable fear that spiked through Eddie. </p><p>As the whole group filed past him, chatting quietly and glancing back at Richie with soft smiles, Eddie was terrified to be alone with him. Terrified what part of the night might try to repeat itself if they were alone together again. </p><p>But they were all gone soon, and all that was left was to look back at Richie. </p><p>“Hi,” Richie said softly. </p><p>Eddie watched him closely, waiting for the smile to ripple through those lips he’d loved and loved and loved. It never came. He was just staring at Eddie, his face open and sad. </p><p>Eddie knew what was happening before Richie opened his mouth again, and the knowledge dropped a stone of dread, of denial, of pure fucking refusal into his gut. He shook his head, tears immediately springing to the surface. </p><p>“Don’t,” he said, willing the panic down. “Don’t, Richie.” </p><p>“I just said hi.” </p><p>“No, I can see it in your face.” </p><p>“Eds,” he breathed. </p><p>Richie brought a hand up and scrubbed it along his sternum, and the old, familiar motion scared Eddie enough that his mouth snapped shut in spite of the <em>nonononononono</em> crashing around under his skin. </p><p>He just stood at the foot of Richie’s bed, a barren offering of all that he was and all that he had as Richie stared back at him without smiling and looking so, so sad. </p><p>“Come sit by me,” Richie said quietly, patting the bed beside his knees. </p><p>There was a frozen moment in which Eddie was so swallowed by the dread of what was coming that he couldn’t remember he had control over this body he lived in, but once he did, he found himself sinking down against the warmth of Richie’s thighs. They stared at each other in silence for a long moment, and Eddie wrung his hands round and round and round until Richie caught them in one of his. </p><p>The touch sparked through Eddie, and he held on like the touch of Richie’s hand was a lifeline. In a way, it was. </p><p>“I’m so sorry, Richie,” Eddie murmured, staring down at their clasped hands. “I…I never meant to hurt you.” </p><p>“Hey, hey,” Richie said, squeezing his fingers. “This wasn’t <em>your</em> fault.” </p><p>Eddie nodded a bit, staring down, only down. He didn’t trust himself to look up at Richie. It still felt very much like his own fault. </p><p>And after a moment, Richie doled out the punishment he so keenly deserved. </p><p>He slowly, gently pulled his hand out of Eddie’s. </p><p>“But I meant what I said, Eddie,” Richie whispered finally, and Eddie had to close his eyes against the sudden onslaught of pain racing through him. “We’re not <em>good</em> for each other. I just keep hurting you, and I can’t stop it, and I don’t want to hurt you anymore.” </p><p>There was a moment of ringing silence, of Eddie clenching his eyes, his fists so tight that he felt the skin of his palm give. It was nothing, comparatively. </p><p>But he had to <em>fight</em>. He had to show Richie that being with him was the only thing that wouldn't hurt. </p><p>“<em>This</em> hurts,” Eddie whispered finally, his head bowed. </p><p>He could hear the <em>snick</em> of Richie swallow.</p><p>“I know,” he croaked. “It hurts me, too.” </p><p>“Then don’t,” Eddie said, opening his eyes and staring, pleadingly, at Richie. There was no doubt in his mind that this <em>did</em> hurt Richie; it was written all over his face, in the quiver of his chin, the sorrow in his eyes. “Just don’t. We’ll pretend this never happened.” Eddie clutched out at Richie’s hand again, his voice shaking in its plea. “We can go back to the way it was before.” </p><p>“We can’t,” he said, and though his voice was decided, it wasn’t unyielding. Eddie’d never been good at not pushing. </p><p>“Why not?” He locked onto Richie’s eyes, held him there like a bone in the jaw of a dog and shook and shook and shook. “Why <em>not</em>?”</p><p>The quiver of Richie’s chin started up in earnest, and when he spoke, it was barely a whisper. </p><p>“My heart’s failing,” he said.</p><p>“I know,” Eddie said back, a shrug already initiating in his shoulders, but Richie shook his head, pulled his hand free once again.</p><p>“No. You don’t.” Richie swallowed and closed his eyes. </p><p>When they opened again, there was steel in them, and Eddie felt the breath punch out of him. The look in those eyes… Eddie knew. He’d lost. Richie didn't want him, and he didn't want Eddie to fight for him. There was no stopping what Richie had made inevitable, and it ached so completely that he was afraid to search for the edges of it. Afraid that there would be no edges, and he would just fall into the ache, spiral down and down. </p><p>Richie went on. Maybe he felt like he owed it to Eddie to spell it out, to make it reverberate into the world so that there would be no mistaking it, but Eddie was half-wild with the horror he’d been through, and he was torn between wishing he could die right there in that moment by Richie’s side, the unspoken truth hanging between them—and he recognized the irony in that desperate desire—and wishing that Richie would just stop fucking talking and let him leave and let him feel his hurt and let him have his moment of utter unbecoming all to himself. </p><p>If Richie didn’t see him break, he couldn’t hoard the scene onto his list of reasons not to let people close or whatever the fuck it was that made him try and pry Eddie out of the happy, easy holes in his life. </p><p>But Richie went on, “My heart’s failing, worse than before, and there’s nothing to do about it. There’s no time to go back to how things were. I know that this hurts, Eddie, but that’s the problem. I don’t want to hurt you, and I don’t want to be hurt.”</p><p>“I never meant to hurt you,” Eddie whispered, clutching lamely at the bedsheets by Richie’s hip. “I’m so sorry.”</p><p>But Richie just shook his head. </p><p>“I did it to myself,” he said, dropping his eyes. “None of this is your fault, Eddie.” </p><p>A devastated, manic laugh ripped through Eddie, and he swiped at the tears threatening to burst down over the dam of his eyelids.</p><p>“The old, <em>it’s not you, it’s me,</em> huh?” Eddie snapped. “Fuck you, Richie.” </p><p>Richie’s frown went from sad to resigned. He swallowed, nodded just once. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” he said. </p><p>The silence of waiting for Richie to take it back, to explain it all away, it beat and beat in Eddie’s chest. He <em>needed</em> Richie to take it back. </p><p>And when the silence continued, Eddie couldn’t bring himself to look at Richie anymore. He couldn’t look at Richie and see all that they had been, how sweetly they’d loved, and know with the certainty of Richie’s silence how little it mattered, in the end of things. </p><p>He couldn’t watch it all die in front of him. He wasn’t strong like that, wasn’t <em>brave</em> like that without Richie encouraging him. </p><p>So, he pushed himself to his feet and didn’t look at Richie again as he made his way to the door. </p><p>There was so, so much he wanted to say, so many pleas he still had to drop at Richie’s feet, but he felt to his core that not a word of it would make a difference, and that made it all hurt more. </p><p>The first tear sprung loose as he reached for the door handle, but he choked down the sobs. He wouldn’t let Richie hear him cry.</p><p>Just as it seemed there would never be anything else uttered between them, Richie’s voice cracked through the empty air behind him. </p><p>“Will you say goodbye, Eddie?” he whispered.</p><p>Eddie paused, his hand on the doorknob, and clenched his eyes closed. </p><p>God, <em>God</em>, he didn’t want to say it. He didn’t want to speak it into existence, just like he hadn’t wanted Richie to speak their break-up into existence, despite both of them knowing exactly what was happening in that stranded emergency room. </p><p>But if Richie needed a goodbye to feel peace—and Eddie wanted that for him, he wanted peace for him so much that it was nearly hungrier than his own desperation—then he would give him a goodbye. </p><p>Eddie didn’t turn around, just clung to the doorknob. </p><p>“Goodbye,” he said finally, and though it was just barely loud enough to be heard through the ringing silence, it shattered him on the exhale. </p><p>A long, endless moment passed between them, and though Eddie was still facing the door, his own vision blurry with tears, it seemed a moment that was in no rush to finish. </p><p>“A real goodbye,” Richie croaked finally, and Eddie didn’t need to look back at him to know that he was crying, too. His breaths were whistling wetly though him. “Everyone should have a chance to say goodbye.” </p><p>Richie’s voice broke over the last word, and suddenly, he was sobbing across the distance at Eddie’s back. </p><p>It was that sound that finally made Eddie turn, and when he did, Richie hunched over his knees crying, clutching his hair and broken ribs in equal measure, Eddie <em>understood</em>. </p><p>Richie wasn’t just asking for a goodbye for the end of <em>them</em>. He was asking for a goodbye for the end of <em>his life</em>.</p><p>Eddie stared at him, horrified. </p><p>Eddie’s whole goddamn world had been turned over that night, and swallowing down the fight for <em>them</em> was one thing, but <em>fuck</em> if he was just going to let go of his fight for Richie's life. Like <em>fuck</em> he was going to go back on all the times he’d sworn to keep Richie’s heart beating by sheer stubbornness alone. </p><p>Saying goodbye, giving Richie the <em>last</em> goodbye, that was as good as surrender, and Eddie fucking Kaspbrak would not surrender Richie’s life for anything in the world. </p><p>Eddie shook his head. His voice did not shake. “No.” </p><p>Richie looked up at him from the damp cave of his knees and choked out a sob.</p><p>“Eddie, <em>please</em>.” </p><p>“No,” he said again, stronger. He let go of the doorknob and crossed the room. “No, absolutely not. You might be willing to give up on you, but I’m fucking <em>not</em>.” </p><p>“Eddie,” Richie whined. His fists curled where they sat, his hair, his side, and suddenly, something turned in Eddie. Richie was sitting there, broken and vulnerable and <em>scared</em>, and <em>fear</em> was something Eddie knew intimately. </p><p>You had to jump or not. But <em>decide</em>. </p><p>Eddie’d decided a long time ago that wherever Richie was involved, he was jumping. No matter the cost.</p><p>“No,” Eddie said again, falling into a crouch at Richie’s bedside. “And you know what, Richie? I’m not giving up on <em>us</em>, either.”</p><p>Richie shook his head, choked out a sob.</p><p>“<em>Please</em>, Eddie.” </p><p>Eddie could feel him standing at the mouth of that cliff, the decision in his hands. So, Eddie sucked in a breath, led him to the edge, and asked the only thing that mattered. </p><p>“Do you love me, Richie?” he murmured. </p><p>And Richie would jump, or he would not. </p><p>Richie cinched his eyes closed and cried, the tears rushing out of him so fast they carved a steady stream onto his cheeks. </p><p>He teetered on the cliffside. </p><p>Then, he jumped. </p><p>“Yes.” </p><p>Richie nodded and nodded and tore one hand out of his hair to clutch at the root of Eddie’s, unwrapped the other from his ribs to claim Eddie’s wrist, and when he pulled Eddie against him, the hard clash of their lips sung like lightning in the blackest sky.</p><p>It didn't undo what had been done, and it didn't fill up the ache of knowing that Richie had been ready to leave him behind, but Richie licked into his mouth and wept, and it was enough. </p><p>There would be time for the rest.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Fun fact! "Stayin' Alive" by the Bee Gees is one of the songs you can do CPR to thanks to its peppy BPM. (Though, actually, you should go a bit faster than that if you can.) </p><p>Is this....did I make it better??</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Chapter 24</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Richie doesn't want to decide.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tws: suicidal ideation, surgery</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
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    <em>December ‘93</em>
 
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</div><p>Richie, surprise be to exactly fucking <em>no one</em> after the night he’d had, felt like shit twice-warmed over. Physically, mentally, and emotionally, things were not looking their brightest for Richie Tozier. </p><p>But, then again, Eddie’d let him rub his tears and snot into the pristine hollow of his collarbone—Eddie, still around, even after Richie’d fought tooth and nail to shove him away, isn’t life stupefying—so that was nice. </p><p>Richie’d come to determine that—alongside breathing, laughing, coughing, and rolling over—crying hurt. So, he tugged Eddie tighter against him and tried to stop. </p><p>Tried, of course, was the operative word there. All he could think about was the look on Eddie’s face as he tried to end things with him (both times), and that wasn’t making the guilt-hewn tears any easier to force away. </p><p>And neither was the knowledge that there was still a part of him that knew breaking up with Eddie was the right thing to do…</p><p>“Stop,” Eddie grumbled, half-asleep beside Richie in the hospital bed, cocooning him. “I can hear you thinking.” </p><p>“You psychic now, Spagheds?” Richie said, but it was weak, and he knew that. </p><p>Eddie huffed an unimpressed breath.</p><p>“Eventually, your parents are going to get tired of standing in the hallway, and they're gonna come back in here, and I’d cut my own arm off for a nap right now, so <em>shh</em>. Don’t waste the quiet time.” </p><p>Richie squirmed. He didn’t really dig the silence. </p><p>Not to mention the fact that this silence, at least to Richie, felt very, very <em>loud</em>. </p><p>Richie had no idea where he stood, not with Eddie, not with life, not with anything. He was just in a bubble of false security, and he was anxious to the core with the silence of it all. </p><p>Richie’s foot started bouncing of its own accord, burning off some of the nervous energy that, in spite of how raw-bone exhausted he was, seemed to be rolling off him in waves. The bouncing lasted approximately 1.7 seconds before Eddie groaned, pushed himself up, and glared. </p><p>He looked soft and rumpled, and Richie loved him, no matter how much that singed against his nerves.</p><p>“Alright,” Eddie snapped, frowning. “Fine. Let’s talk.” </p><p>There was something in Eddie’s face, hard and vengeful, that told Richie he’d made a mistake by failing to appreciate the beauty of silence. Just like that, Richie blanched. His heart—Jesus, not this again—started leaping around in his chest, and the monitor warned sharply against whatever conversation was about to be had.</p><p>“Actually, it’s cool,” Richie tried, but he felt his voice skitter outwards in a way that might have been comical if he wasn’t so intimidated by the ball of fury with one knee still thrown over Richie’s. </p><p>“Oh no you don’t,” Eddie said, shaking his head. “I was perfectly content to nap and talk about it in the morning, but if you don’t want me to nap, let’s hash this out, Rich.” </p><p>Richie gulped, and it didn’t dissuade Eddie one single bit.</p><p>“I’m only gonna yell at you a little, because I do recognize that you’ve had a hard night, but—" Richie braced himself "—I <em>hate</em> what you did tonight.” </p><p>Eddie’s eyes were hard, and Richie could feel every ounce of that hatred pouring into him. He felt sick with it, dropped his eyes like a chastised child. </p><p>Eddie went on, “And I don’t just mean that I hate <em>what</em> you did, but I mean I hate every goddamn thing about it. I hate what you did, and I hate why you did it, and I hate how easy it was for you, and I hate how—” </p><p>Richie’s gaze snapped up. </p><p>“It wasn’t <em>easy</em> for me, Eddie,” he interrupted. “Breaking up with you was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. My heart <em>literally</em> stopped afterward. How could you think that was easy?” </p><p>“I’m not saying your heart stopping was easy for you,” Eddie shot back, his face red. “I’m saying—” </p><p>But Richie cut him off again. They both ignored the warning of the heart monitor at the bedside. </p><p>“I know what you’re saying, and you’re wrong.”</p><p>There was no give in Richie’s voice. No matter where they went from here, Richie had to make sure that Eddie knew leaving him was anything but easy. </p><p>Eddie glared at him for a moment.</p><p>“Are you going to let me speak?” he asked finally.</p><p>Richie huffed and waved a hand towards him. </p><p>“Thank you,” Eddie said with a roll of his eyes, because, at his core, he was a petty bitch, and Richie loved him. “As I was <em>saying</em>, I get that you did it to…protect me, or whatever, but that…that <em>sucked</em>, Richie.” </p><p>Richie opened his mouth, to defend himself, to apologize, he wasn’t sure. His intentions were quickly made a moot point, however, as seeing the warning glare Eddie shot him made his jaw snap shut immediately. </p><p>Once it was clear that Richie wasn’t going to interrupt, Eddie dropped his gaze and sighed. </p><p>“It sucked that you were able to just throw me away, even if you thought you were doing it for the right reasons, and it sucked that you didn’t even <em>talk</em> to me about it.” Richie watched him wring his hands together, watched the skin burst pink and red. “We were supposed to be a team, and you decided for the both of us.”</p><p>“Isn’t that how break-ups usually go?” Richie asked, like the petulant child he was. </p><p>“Not when neither of us really <em>wants</em> to be broken up,” Eddie shot back. </p><p>Richie choked on an aching, guilty silence, <em>stayed</em> silent, put his eyes down. </p><p>“Rich,” Eddie breathed. He sounded like he’d just been punched in the stomach, and it made tears spring to Richie’s eyes. He didn’t look up at him, couldn’t. When Eddie spoke again, his voice was barely more than a whisper. “You don’t…you don’t <em>want</em> us to be broken up, do you?” </p><p>Richie stared down at his hands, held his breath when Eddie unwound their legs. </p><p>“Richie,” he insisted, voice trembling. </p><p>“Part of me does,” Richie whispered, and it hurt to say. “Part of me really, really does. And not because I don’t love you, because I do. I…You’re my first love, Eds. You’ll be my last. But I knew that if I talked to you, you’d talk me out of it because I <em>don’t</em> want to break up. But more than I don’t want to break up, I don’t want to hurt you.” </p><p>Richie swallowed, clenched his eyes closed. </p><p>“And I will, if we stay together,” he whispered after a moment. “And that terrifies me.” </p><p>“Richie,” Eddie said. His voice was quiet, but firm. “You can’t live your life in fear. You’re the one who told me that. It just makes you miserable, makes you push people away. And besides, you don’t get to decide what’s worth me hurting over. I do, and <em>you are</em>.” </p><p>“What’s the point?” He tried hard to keep his voice from cracking, and like so much else in his life, he failed. “I’m going to die. What’s the point in anything? I just…I hurt everyone I love. My parents, my friends, you. Sometimes—” Richie choked, his voice swallowing him up for a moment. Eddie’s hand found his, and they clung to each other. Eddie was still gripping his hand when he found his voice again. “Sometimes, I wish I was never born. Then I couldn’t hurt anyone.” </p><p>The heart monitor beside the bed thrummed on and on, and Richie felt both of Eddie’s hands grasp his as the tears fell down his cheeks. </p><p>“You want me to tell you what the point is, Rich?” Eddie whispered fiercely. His hands were iron around Richie’s, and Richie couldn’t <em>stand</em> the way his voice was shaking. “The point is <em>this</em>.” Eddie tugged on his hands. “The point is us, the people that care about you and who you care about back. Love is the whole fucking point. If you die tonight, Rich, then at least you made a difference in peoples’ lives. Not everyone gets to say that.” </p><p>“It’s not a <em>good </em>difference, Eddie. I just make their lives worse.” </p><p>“You can’t honestly think that.” </p><p>“I ruined Nicole’s life,” Richie mumbled, then hiccupped around another sob. “I stole her childhood with my stupid fucking heart, and I…I can never fix that, Eddie.” </p><p>“Richie, she <em>loves</em> you. You saw her tonight, man. She was the first one to you when we got here.” </p><p>Richie tried to breathe, to even out the tears and the ache rolling through him. His heart monitor brayed sadly, and he could never make up to Nicole what he’d taken from her. But Eddie was right. She…somehow didn’t seem to hate him for it. She’d looked relieved tonight. </p><p>And still, he was afraid that she’d never forgive him. He was afraid that his parents would resent him once he was gone, afraid that his friends would look back and feel cheated. That Eddie would wish he’d never met him. </p><p>To put it simply, he was afraid to die. </p><p>He had thought he’d come to terms with what was waiting for him, thought he knew how he wanted to live before he went…but he’s just a kid. He was supposed to have his whole life ahead of him to figure it all out, not whatever days of odd change he’s got dwindling in his pocket. </p><p>He’d finished his list, and it still wasn’t enough. He didn’t think there ever <em>would </em>be enough. </p><p>“I don’t want to die, Eds,” he whispered finally, voice hoarse. He clung to Eddie’s hands. “I'm so scared.”</p><p>“I know you are,” Eddie murmured. “So am I. I've never been so scared of anything as I am of losing you.” </p><p>Richie held his hands and cried. This was what he never wanted for Eddie. That fear. That dread. That ache. </p><p>Eddie went on, softly, pleadingly.</p><p>“But, Richie,” he said. He brought a hand up and cupped Richie’s cheek. It seared, and it felt like home. “I don't want to lose you like this. This is a fucking cheap-shot loss. Don’t make me lose you before I have to.”</p><p>Richie felt the heavy weight of Eddie’s gaze on him as he cried, as Eddie waited for an answer that Richie didn’t have. He couldn’t even look at him for the guilt. They were trapped, both of them. There was no way he could give Eddie what he wanted, and no way he could live with himself—no pun intended—if he hurt Eddie. </p><p>Before Richie could find the magic words to turn the shitty hands they’d been dealt into the lives they both so desperately wanted for each other, there was a soft knock at the door. </p><p>Eddie didn’t turn to acknowledge the sound, just frowned a bit and reached up to wipe the tears off Richie’s face. </p><p>“Just think about it, okay?” he whispered, thumbing along the fragile skin under his eyes. </p><p>All that Richie could give him was a broken nod. </p><p>Eddie leaned forward. </p><p>“I love you, Richie,” he murmured. He sealed the words into Richie's heartmindbodysoul with a soft kiss against his forehead. “No matter what you decide. I love you.” </p><p>And with that, Eddie pulled away and crawled out of the tiny bed. </p><p>Almost like a repeat of the last time he’d walked away, Richie felt his heart raging against the thought, and he couldn’t let him go, not without saying just one more thing. (And like his good-for-nothing-list, he knew there would always be just one more thing he wanted to say to Eddie.)</p><p>“I'm so sorry,” he called. “For everything.” </p><p>At the crack of Richie’s voice across the crumbling room, Eddie paused and turned with a sad smile. </p><p>“I’m not,” he said with a shake of his head. “I wouldn't change it, not a single thing.” </p><p>Eddie’s smile seemed to go ten times sadder, and even across the room, even with his shit eyes and shit heart and shit head crashing reckless thoughts around and around, Richie wasn’t so useless as to believe that this wasn’t a goodbye. Maybe it wasn’t a goodbye for them, and maybe it wasn’t a goodbye for Richie, but it was a goodbye for whatever had bloomed between them in the warmth of innocence. </p><p>It was a goodbye that would be mourned. </p><p>“You taught me how to be brave, Rich,” Eddie said, his voice cracking. “And I hope that you remember that, if nothing else.” </p><p>Eddie gave him one last watery smile, then tugged open the door. </p><p>Richie could just see Maggie squeezing Eddie’s shoulder gently before they traded places at his bedside, and he was left to pretend that he had any fucking clue as to what the right thing to do was. </p><p>Maggie didn’t ask him to talk, though, and he appreciated that. She just sat at his knees and brushed his hair back.</p><p>Went joined the party after a few minutes and tugged a rolling stool out from under the counter. </p><p>“Everyone wanted to stay and see you,” Went said, his smile haggard and thin. “But I told them you’d be tired. They’re all going to go back to Ben’s aunt’s house for the night.” </p><p>Richie nodded, closed his eyes. He was exhausted. There was no part of him that wasn’t. </p><p>“Just rest, sweetie,” Maggie said. </p><p>Her hand was rhythmic in his hair, and he felt so young sitting there. So lost. </p><p>Sleep, when it came, was brittle and was interrupted often by nurses moving him to a different room, checking his vitals, prodding him with needles. </p><p>When everything settled, his mother curled up in a hard, faux-leather recliner at his bedside and his father spilled over the ends of a futon across the room, Richie gave up on sleep. </p><p>He knew he should be thinking, figuring out what the hell he was supposed to do about the rest of his life, about Eddie, but the issue felt like it had grown a husk of scar tissue from all the times he’d ripped it open, desperate for answers. It sat, now, surly and impenetrable in his chest. </p><p>He didn’t <em>want</em> to look at it, truth be told. </p><p>He just wanted to sleep, and sleep was not particularly forthcoming. </p><p>By the time the sun well and truly stole into the hospital room, Richie had been staring at it, nearly unblinking, for the better part of two hours. </p><p>Across the room, Went groaned and shifted before finally blinking open an eye, seeing Richie already watching him, and sitting up with a frown.</p><p>“Did you get any rest?” he whispered hoarsely. </p><p>His frown deepened when Richie shook his head.</p><p>“Not really.” </p><p>Went sighed. He lifted his hands to scrub over his eyes before finding his thin-framed glasses on the floor and sliding them on. When his gaze landed on Maggie, curled into herself and snoring softly at Richie’s bedside, Richie had to look away from the tenderness he saw in his father’s face. </p><p>He was glad his parents still liked each other. He was, really. It just also tore into him a little, the knowledge that the only person who’d ever loved him like that was someone he was terrified to keep. </p><p>“Are you hungry?” Went asked, snapping Richie out of his thoughts. </p><p>He considered the question. He wasn’t especially hungry, but he also couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. Maybe the brownies he’d baked with Eddie? It felt like a lifetime ago. </p><p>“I probably should eat,” he decided finally, and Went nodded. </p><p>Went was just sliding back into his shoes when the door to Richie’s room opened, and both turned to see who it was. </p><p>Richie half-expected Eddie—half-dreaded Eddie, knowing he still didn’t have an answer that wouldn’t break both of their hearts—but it wasn’t. It was the nurse who had been checking on him for the last few hours. She had a cordless phone in her hand and was smiling.</p><p>“Good, you’re awake,” she said. </p><p>At the new voice, Maggie began stirring and was soon blinking blearily around the room. </p><p>“Is everything alright?” Went asked, glancing between the nurse and Maggie. </p><p>At the question, Maggie sat up at attention, all traces of sleep suddenly gone from her face. Her gaze was laser focused, and she gripped for Richie’s hand, seemingly on instinct. </p><p>He would always love that about her, that she felt she could protect him just by holding his hand. It was never true, of course, but it usually helped anyway. </p><p>“Yes. Dr. Warner’s on the line,” the nurse said, motioning to the phone in her hand. “They want you back at St. Joseph’s in Bangor as soon as possible.”</p><p>“Why?” Maggie asked. Her grip was iron-tight around Richie’s fingers. “What’s going on?” </p><p>The nurse smiled wider. </p><p>“They’ve found him a heart.”   </p><p>Every molecule of oxygen in Richie’s lungs swooped out of him, and he sat, gaping at the nurse. Distantly, he could hear the heart monitor beside him pick up its tempo, perfectly in-sync with the pounding in his ears. </p><p>“What?” he heard Maggie whisper, and he saw her turn to him with wide, shining eyes. “Richie!” </p><p>Then, she was laughing, crying, tugging him to her and holding him, holding his father. </p><p>Richie sat gaping. </p><p>They’d found him a new heart. </p><p>He was getting a new heart. </p><p>He was afraid to believe it. He’d been let down so, <em>so</em> many times, had his shot at a second chance foiled at the last possible moment a dozen times over. </p><p>But whether or not he believed it, the world around him was a flurry of activity. The nurses were checking and rechecking and adjusting, his parents were making frantic phone calls, he was being shepherded around in a wheelchair, doors were being opened and being shut. </p><p>Then, he was loaded into an ambulance and whisked away down the road to Bangor in a stunned silence. </p><p>It was a long, quiet drive, and Richie had one single thought circling his mind the entire way. </p><p>
  <em>Is this real?</em>
</p><p>Dr. Warner was waiting for him in the hospital bay when the ambulance finally parked and opened its doors. Her normally stoic demeanor had crumpled to make room for the way she was beaming at him, and that, the sight of her smile, never given when it wasn’t earned, was enough to finally crack through the disbelief that had been blocking the joy that this news should have brought. </p><p>She beamed at him, and he broke into tears, laughing, crying, a direct mirror of his mother when she’d heard the news. </p><p>Dr. Warner’s hands landed soft on his shoulders.</p><p>“You ready for this, Rich?” she asked.</p><p>He nodded so hard his glasses nearly went sliding off his face. </p><p>“Well, let’s get to it then,” she said, still grinning. </p><p>After that, she had a team of medical professionals check him in, check him over, get him situated in the pre-op rooms. Went and Maggie appeared sometime in the midst of the chaos and sat with him, grinning and talking excitedly about whatever flitted across their minds. It was dizzying and thrilling to watch. </p><p>There was a spark burning in Richie, in all of them, that hadn’t flickered in a very long time. </p><p>He realized, as Dr. Warner came back in and began explaining the procedure, the risks, the expectations, that the spark was <em>hope</em>. </p><p>And when it was all said and done, when he was cleared for surgery, when he’d told her that he’d take the non-insignificant chance of dying on the table over chewing through this shadowy impression of life the way he'd been for months, when he’d kissed his parents and held their hands until they could go no further, it was only then that the fear struck him. </p><p>He hadn’t been lying when he’d told Dr. Warner that he understood the risks of his body rejecting the organ after, of the new heart only giving him back a handful of years that fate had taken from him. But that was all assuming he made it through the operation at all. </p><p>And he understood the fallible likelihood of that, too. He hadn’t been lying when he’d told Dr. Warner that. </p><p>It was just that Eddie’s bright, laughing eyes hadn’t sprung to the forefront of his thoughts until this very moment. The surgical staff wheeled him down the long, sterile hallway towards whatever fate may await him, and he'd maybe already uttered the last words he would ever speak to Eddie. </p><p>It wasn’t until the anesthesiologist was adjusting his IV, smiling down at him from behind a face mask, telling him to count backwards from one hundred, that Richie knew with certainty down to his very center, that the last words he'd said to Eddie had been <em>wrong</em>. </p><p>Eddie was right. What they’d built…that was the point of all of this. He didn’t want to be done building, and it was selfish, so selfish, but he was at the edge of the cliff. He’d never wanted a beautiful widow, but he didn’t want to die a martyr, either. </p><p>He didn’t want to die without Eddie in his life. </p><p>And maybe it was too late to set right what he had broken, but he told himself if he lived, if he woke up and Eddie was there, he’d set the whole world right, if Eddie would let him. </p><p>Richie took a deep breath and closed his eyes. </p><p>“One hundred,” he said. “Ninety-nine, ninety-eight…”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. Chapter 25</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Richie loves SoHo (and Eddie).</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tws: none, pure fucking fluff</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
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    <em>March ‘99</em>
 
</p>
</div><p>There were things that Richie sort of hated about living in Manhattan. The July smell of hot garbage scorched his nose hairs, the 6 train literally, literally always made him late for his job at the comedy club, and he would <em>swear</em> the rats of Bleecker Street had formed an alliance to chase after him any time he traipsed the sidewalk too late at night.</p><p>But he sort of loved SoHo. He loved the soft-lined murals, the pita bread smell (hiding under the hot garbage smell), the literal shithole he called home. </p><p>And it was a shithole, truly, barely bigger than his childhood bedroom, with water pressure so bad that showering was more like standing in a fine mist and a radiator that putzed out at sixty-six degrees no matter how many times he’d called the landlady and threatened to jump lease. (They both knew he was bluffing. Shelly was a nice lady, and she always popped by with cookies and a wrench to try and fix it. It wasn’t her fault she was a shit repairwoman.)</p><p>Still, he shuddered as he climbed up to the fourth-floor landing (the elevator was out of order for the third time in as many days), drudging up his anchor-weight bag of groceries and dreading the fact that when he opened his front door, the chill that followed him in off the streets wouldn’t be blasted to oblivion. </p><p>But truly, in spite of all the place’s flaws, it was his home, and he loved it, and he loved it for one very specific reason. </p><p>When the front door opened and the groceries were dropped on the counter just inside, there was Eddie’s perfect little head whipping up from the kitchen table and beaming at him. </p><p>“Rich! You’re home!” he said, flipping his textbooks closed and rising to greet him. </p><p>Eddie’s hair was stuck up in stress-mussed tufts from what had probably been an afternoon of raking his hands through as he agonized over med school midterms, and Richie loved him as much as he had six years ago, standing on the razor’s edge between life and death, standing wide-eyed before the screaming bus of a failing heart, loved him more. </p><p>After the transplant, Richie wasn’t <em>technically</em> supposed to have visitors until he could be moved to a private room, but he’d always suspected that Bev took more shifts when he was there, and when she was there, she always bent the rules for him a bit. </p><p>She’d snuck Eddie in barely twenty-four hours after he’d come up from surgery, and when Richie laid eyes on him, something daunting and repentant and relieved pulsing in his chest, that was the moment Richie knew he’d lived. </p><p>He was alive, and the heart monitor by his bedside danced up-tempo at the sight of Eddie’s tentative smile. </p><p>“Wondered if that would still happen when I saw you,” Richie’d croaked, voice raw from the breathing tube and disuse, eyes raking over the unkempt splay of Eddie’s hair, the paleness of his skin, the fear in his eyes. “New model and all.” </p><p>Eddie stood at the foot of his bed and laughed like a weight was tipping from him, and Richie understood how wars were started for love. He understood what he’d been cowardly enough to try and throw away, and he wanted to wear this new heart out in making up for all the mistakes he’d made. </p><p>“You were right,” Richie’d said, holding onto those big, brown eyes. “You, the Losers, my family, you’re the reason I even want to live. And I’m so sorry, Eds, for thinking even for a second that that wasn’t enough.” </p><p>Richie watched the hard-push swallow of Eddie’s throat and mirrored the action, dropped his gaze. </p><p>“If you still want me,” Richie whispered finally, “I’m yours.”</p><p>There’d been a long, trembling silence, and Richie, not unteachable, not incapable of growth, had tried to accept it for what it was. His heartbeat was deafening in his ears, and the weight of Eddie’s gaze had him scorching in his hospital bed, but the tug of his stitches was a reminder that, even at the end, there’s <em>more</em>. </p><p>And somehow, at the end of that gutted silence, Eddie <em>had</em> wanted him. </p><p>Richie’s lips, tacky with dry-mouth saliva, glued to Eddie’s when he rushed to the bedside, and it was enough. It was everything.</p><p>Somehow, Eddie’d wanted him, even through the next rocky year, with Richie in and out of check-ups to make sure there was no rejection of his new heart, in and out of physical therapy, in and out of regular therapy—turns out, receiving the heart straight out of someone else was not a guilt-free transaction, and apparently, the depression Richie’d been swallowed by leading up to the transplant was concerning enough to mandate regular appointments; therapy helped, still helped—in and out of educational offices to figure out if it was possible for him to graduate with his friends. </p><p>(In the end, he’d graduated three months behind schedule, but he’d been there to cheer Eddie, Mike, Bill, and Stan on from the sidelines.) </p><p>And then, Eddie had wanted Richie the next year, when the gap year they’d both decided to take after graduation spiraled out into shitty part-time jobs and stress over re-worked college apps and frequent fresh-heart check-ins with Dr. Warner and Eddie feeling drowned and aimless with decisions for the future. </p><p>Richie held him and, Eddie later told him, helped him decide. Eddie chose nursing, swore to himself and to Richie that he would never feel as helpless as he had that night on the beach, decided that he would make the difference in someone’s life, just like Bev and Ben had made the difference in Richie’s. </p><p>Richie watched the decision settle inside of him like a lost cog, watched as it made everything else turn a little smoother. </p><p>They both applied to the same schools, places with good nursing programs, places with good arts programs—Richie thought the theater would suit him nicely—and when they spread out their acceptance letters and scholarship letters, it was Eddie’s dream school that made the most sense. </p><p>Eddie wanted him as they hugged their families goodbye, wanted him as they drove Richie’s rusted-out truck weighed down by both of their things straight into Manhattan, wanted him as they’d argued over the appropriate place of honor for Carlito the purple mongoose in their shared dorm room. </p><p>Richie lasted one semester at NYU before deciding that, fresh heart and all, college just wasn’t his thing, and somehow, Eddie wanted him then, too. Had shown he wanted him in every way, in every moment since, and there wasn’t a day where Richie didn’t wake up egregiously grumpy and grossly sentimental and think how lucky he was to have Eddie’s sleep-seared breath ghosting over his pulse and their legs tangled between them. </p><p>It was Eddie who’d loved SoHo most, and Richie was more than happy to settle there, just to see the smile on his face any time they walked down the street. And this, this moment of coming home, of Eddie grinning with a cold-red nose and bright eyes and joy just <em>emanating</em> off him, this was what Richie loved about SoHo. </p><p>“Hi there,” Richie said, pushing a hand through the wild bramble of Eddie’s hair. “How’s the studying going?” </p><p>Eddie stretched up, pecked a—cold-ass, thanks to the busted radiator—kiss onto Richie’s cheek, and groaned.</p><p>“Awful.” </p><p>Richie gave an exaggerated pout of sympathy and was rewarded by Eddie smacking a cold-ass kiss to his lips and grinning. </p><p>“I brought dinner stuff, if you want to take a break,” Richie offered. </p><p>“Ooh, what’d you get?” he asked, leaning around him to rifle through the shopping bag.</p><p>“Spaghetti,” he answered with a smirk.</p><p>“Of course, you did,” Eddie said. </p><p>Though he had his back to Richie as he began unloading groceries, his eye-roll was practically audible.  </p><p>“What?” Richie whined, reaching out and pinching the soft skin at Eddie’s hip, giggling when he yelped. “My boy has to resort to cannibalism if he’s ever going to grow big and tall!” </p><p>“But then you’d have to find a <em>real</em> excuse for your shitty posture,” Eddie shot back, sticking his tongue out over his shoulder.</p><p>Richie whipped up to full height—he <em>did</em> have a bad habit of slouching, but in his defense, it halved the distance he’d have to bend in order to kiss Eddie, so who was the real loser there? </p><p>“Oh, ho!” he laughed, “Sass-brak on the loose! Look out world!” </p><p>“Fuck you.”</p><p>“I mean, we already went once today, but I’d be positively thrilled to go again.” </p><p>“You’re disgusting,” Eddie said, dry as dust and without a fleck of sharpness. </p><p>Sex with Eddie had come with the new heart, once he’d completely healed. It had been a little terrifying at first, both virgins and both vividly remembering the last time they’d come even close to sex. </p><p>But then the fear had gone away, and they were just together, and things were just <em>good</em>.</p><p>Richie grinned and shrugged out of his coat, thought he’d never get tired of the sight of their things hanging side-by-side in the same home. He put his shoes on the rack, right next to Eddie’s.</p><p>“Oh, Bev called while you were out,” Eddie said sometime later, as they maneuvered around their microscopic kitchen so that Eddie could put asparagus in the oven while Richie stirred the sauce at his elbow. “She said Mike told her about flying in for my birthday and wanted to know if there would be room for her and Ben.” </p><p>“Really?”</p><p>Eddie closed the oven, wrapped his arms around Richie’s waist from behind, and stood with his cheek pressed between his shoulder blades. </p><p>(This was what he loved about Soho, about Manhattan, about being alive: cooking with Eddie, the unfaltering warmth of his arms.) </p><p>“Yeah,” Eddie went on. “I told them they should absolutely come. I mean, we live in a literal shoebox, but they could always stay with Bill and Stan. It’s just a few blocks.” </p><p>Richie laced the non-sauce-spoon hand with Eddie’s and grinned over his shoulder at him. </p><p>“Or we could just move the coffee table and all seven of us dogpile on the carpet.” </p><p>“Honestly, I’d love that. I miss seeing them every day.” </p><p>“Yeah, me too,” Richie said. </p><p>Leaving his family, leaving his friends—though Stan and Bill had moved to the city for graduate school—that was the bittersweet glaze over SoHo. He called them all regularly, saw them anytime he and Eddie went back to Derry for the holidays, but living somewhere they weren’t was hard. </p><p>Richie went on, “But, hey, Bev and Ben are moving to the city in a few months anyway. And Mike’s been seeing that girl he met at my show a while back. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s packing up and heading this way pretty soon, too.” </p><p>“God, wouldn’t that be something?” Eddie said with a laugh. He unwound his arms from Richie and hopped up onto the only available counterspace they had. “All seven of us living in the same city again?” </p><p>“The stuff of dreams, Spagheds,” Richie said, smiling over at him. </p><p>They lapsed into a comfortable silence, the only sound the rhythmic scraping of Richie’s spoon against the bottom of the saucepan and the dull thud of Eddie’s heels as they kicked idly away from the cupboards. </p><p>It was perfect and domestic and never failed to fill Richie with so much warmth over the fact that he actually got to have this, that <em>this</em> was his honest-to-God life when he’d never dared to believe he’d live to see contentment, that Richie thought he might burst. </p><p>“How was your day?” Eddie asked after a moment, kicking out farther than before and snagging Richie in the thigh. </p><p>Richie caught his ankle and tugged, sending Eddie sliding a few inches towards the edge with a grin. </p><p>“My day was fine, you little gremlin,” he said, smirking as Eddie huffed and reclaimed his position on the counter. “I just hung out here, mostly. Wrote some jokes, made some coffee, drank some coffee, got a call from SNL, picked up stuff for dinner—” </p><p>“Wait, what?!” Eddie screeched, sliding off the counter and gathering a fistful of Richie’s shirt.</p><p>Richie glanced over at him with one corner of his mouth tilted up. He could feel the excitement rolling off Eddie, and his own heart sped like an eternal call-and-response.</p><p>“I said I picked up stuff for dinner,” he answered, just to be a bastard. </p><p>“You got a call from <em>SNL</em>?!” </p><p>Eddie was practically vibrating, emotion sloshing out of him in a siren song so solid that Richie couldn’t hold his casual attitude. He felt a grin shatter across his face, and he nodded. </p><p>“Yeah.” </p><p>The word fell out on a giddy burble, and suddenly, Eddie was flinging himself at Richie, laughing, shouting, and Richie clung to his waist, slung him around their tiny kitchen, matching him breath for breath. </p><p>“Oh my God, Richie!” Eddie shouted in his ear, “Oh my God, I’m so happy for you! I knew you could do it, holy shit. Holy shit!” </p><p>Richie put him back on the ground, arms hooked around Eddie’s back, and he was <em>shining</em>. He was golden. </p><p>“Holy shit, baby,” Eddie laughed. “I’m so proud of you. Holy fuck, you should have started with that, you dick!” </p><p>He shoved him, but Richie just caught his wrist, laughing. </p><p>“Nah,” he said. “This was way more fun.” </p><p>Richie could already imagine his family’s excitement, the Losers’ cheers, but none would top what Eddie had just given him. </p><p>That was usually how it went with Eddie. </p><p>No one would ever top the way that, when Richie tugged on his wrist, Eddie fell easily into his arms, grinned up at him, just <em>radiated</em> life with all the light in the world shining out through his eyes, warm as a bonfire, as the quarry sun. </p><p>No one would ever top the way that, when Richie held him, he could see a long and breathless future dancing out before them in those eyes, the meals they would share, the walls they would scuff, the lives they would build and build and build, together.  </p><p>No one would ever top the way that, when Richie stooped down for a kiss, Eddie pushed up to meet him, absolutely certain, every time, while the beat of his heart hummed, strong and lake-bank wild, into the steadfast home of Eddie’s chest.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Yo... We did it, kiddos. <em>They</em> did it. </p><p>Sincerely, from the bottom of my heart, I want to thank you for going on this journey with me, for sticking around even when it got shitty and hard. You're the reason this got finished, and I want you to know how grateful I am for all the love and encouragement, and even the threats to find me and hunt me for sport (you know who you are, lmao). </p><p>I also want to thank <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mere_Mortifer/pseuds/Mere_Mortifer">Mere_Mortifer</a> endlessly, for helping me out of a million sticky plot points and for listening to me ramble about the end of this fic and for pushing me to even write this fic and for making awesome art and for being an awesome beta and for simply being an awesome bud. She rocks, and this wouldn't have happened without her. </p><p>I really hope you guys enjoyed, and I love you all&lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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